


Merciless

by silverneko9lives0



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Absent Parents, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dwobbit Frodo, M/M, Mpreg, Nice Lobelia, Nice Sackville-Bagginses, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent-Child Relationship, Post Mpreg, Single Parents, Young Frodo Baggins, implied soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:44:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 51
Words: 90,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverneko9lives0/pseuds/silverneko9lives0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of the Five Armies, Bilbo stays long enough to make sure Thorin lives, then sneaks off in the middle of the night with Gandalf, carrying more than he thought...</p><p>Several years later, Thorin returns for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

~Rethe, 1342~

He was bound to be the talk of the Shire now. It didn’t matter. They may say whatever they like about him. Bilbo didn’t care. It was good to be home, though he was _horrified_ that his unpleasant cousins dared to step foot in his home and put their grubby hands on his belongings. He had worried it would happen and hoped his family would step up to protect the land before his return.

Turns out there was very few of his blood kin he could really trust, though Holman and Hamfast assured him that they tried to keep the Sackville-Bagginses out as long as they could. Bilbo thanked them for their efforts. He knew they did their best and that his cousins must have threatened them in some way or other.

“I will head further west in the morning,” Gandalf said. “And return with a midwife to help you.”

Bilbo nodded, placing a hand over his round stomach. “I will be here. Not like I can really go anywhere now that I’m back.”

Gandalf frowned. “I told you the babe is too small for a fauntling as far along as he is, Bilbo. It may be a few more months still until you’re ready to give birth.”

“I know your opinion and Beorn’s,” Bilbo said, heading to a chair. “That does not mean that either of you are right…he might be more Hobbit than Dwarf and our babes—”

“Are usually bigger than this toward the end of term,” Gandalf said. “Are you sure you can handle a few weeks alone? I can write a letter to the Blue Mountains instead.”

“I’ve managed on my own before. I’ll manage again.” _Somehow_.

He grew used to being around noisy Dwarves, huddling together close to the fire for company. And then there was the night in Laketown when—

 _No good thinking on it, Bilbo_ , he thought, easing into an armchair as Gandalf left to make tea.

Rapid knocks on the door caused curses to seep out of Gandalf’s mouth and groans to pass from Bilbo’s.  “Confound it, Madam, have you no courtesy!”

“I want to talk to Bilbo,” Lobelia screeched.

Bilbo could imagine her pushing past Gandalf and he guessed that that was exactly what she did because she stepped into the parlor, hands on her hips and scowling, ready for another row. Then her ire died, focusing on Bilbo’s stomach.

“You’re with child?”

“Very astute.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Um, we hate each other: that’s why.”

“I don’t hate you,” Lobelia snapped. “You’re just maddeningly insufferable. It’s the Bracegirdle in me as much as it is the Took in you.”

“Right, that old feud,” Bilbo said. “Nearly forgot about it.”

“Where’s the sire?”

“Gone.”

“Gone as in…”

Bilbo averted his gaze. “He’s alive, if that’s what you’re wondering. He doesn’t know and…honestly, I don’t think he’d want to know.” Lobelia sat in the chair opposite him.

“What happened?”

_“I am betrayed. Take the traitor and do with him as you will. No friendship of mine goes with him.”_

Bilbo didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet. Lobelia slumped her shoulders. “Have you had a midwife look at you?” she asked instead. “It looks like it’s been about four months…”

“Six.”

“Bilbo, even for a bearer, your belly’s too small for a six month old.”

“Not if the child’s half-Dwarf,” Gandalf said.

“Gandalf has been keeping watch on me and we stopped at Rivendell briefly, so yes, I’ve had healers assess everything. The babe’s fine. The Elves think it’s a boy.”

“Well, we’ll see in three months if it’s just small _or_ more Dwarf,” she said.

“What?” Bilbo asked. _Oh, she wouldn’t…_ “No. _No_ …”

“I’d like to see you try and get rid of me. Whether we get along has nothing to do with it. I’m not fool enough to let a pregnant bearer get away with trying to fend for himself. Bad enough you were out in the wilderness with a babe growing in you, wizard or not.”

“Lobelia, Gandalf is going to bring a Dwarven midwife from the Blue Mountains.”

“Good,” she said. “It’s one thing for a child to have parents of the same race, but quite another when the babe is mixed blood. I’m going to need a little more help this time around.”

Bilbo glowered. “I _never_ said I’d let you—”

“I’m not asking,” Lobelia snapped. “Better get used to it, Bilbo Baggins. You’re stuck with me as your midwife. Who better than family, anyway?”

She stood and strode to the kitchen, drilling Gandalf on how he’d been treating Bilbo since his pregnancy was made known.

Bilbo rubbed his stomach. “Lad, we’re in for a rough few months with that woman running about.”

#

Lobelia had gone home for the evening with her husband. Night was always the worst. At night, he was haunted by his memories.

Memories of strong arms wrapped around his waist, of stolen kisses away from camp, and of deep blue eyes the color of the sky and hair the shade of a starless, moonless night…

He sat down to eat, tearing into a bread roll with his teeth.

The bell rang and he paused. Bilbo stood, wrapping the patchwork robe around his shoulders and approached the door. His hands shook and his heart hammered in his chest, wondering _what if_. He opened the door and, indeed, a Dwarf stood before him. Wearing skirts.

“Míl,” said the Dwarf, voice taken to a slight lilting alto. “At your service,” she added with a bow. “Are you Master Baggins? Gandalf sent me.”

“Oh! Oh, of course, come in. Where are my manners—”

“You need not fret, I’ve already eaten at the inn.”

“Oh, good. I hope the food was to your liking.”

“Aye, it was. Thank you.”

“You still need a room,” Bilbo said, leading her down the hall. “My cousin’s wife has been acting as my midwife while we waited for you.”

“I’d like to talk to her in the morning when she comes by.”

Bilbo nodded. “So will she,” he said. “Um…how much do you know about my…” he pressed his hand against his belly. “My…”

“Gandalf left no secrets. I know who the child’s other father is and the circumstances that separated you from the king. I have sworn to secrecy.”

He sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

#

Míl and Lobelia spoke of Bilbo’s pregnancy and the baby’s development over tea while Bilbo read a book by the hearth. Occasionally, he’d hear snippets:

_Too small for a Hobbit. And for a Dwarf._

_Could be in two more months or five._

_My husband is making the nursery. Bilbo wanted to do it himself, but I refuse to let him put himself at such risk!_

_It’s healthy though?_

_Could just be that it’s small if he’s on a normal eating schedule again. It happens. Miracle he hasn’t had many complications yet!_

Bilbo rubbed his belly, humming a song under his breath to settle the babe as it moved around. Small or not, his little one had a nasty kick.

#

The ninth month of the term passed into the tenth.

“He may be more Dwarrow than we thought,” Míl said.

“Wonderful,” Bilbo grouched. “I’m ready for him to be born and _he’s not_. Blasted Dwarf blood of his…”

“It’s not all bad, Bilbo,” Lobelia said. “It’s just a few more months to prepare and let him grow some more. Have you decided on a name?”

He nodded, sitting up. His belly was bigger now. The ladies thought he might get bigger than he was now, which would relieve some of the tension of having a small baby.

“Frodo, if the Elves are right, Jasmine if they’re not. Not that it matters, of course,” he added with a small smile.

It hurt to smile and he hoped it didn’t show on his face.

#

On his fifty-second birthday, the celebration was cut short when his contractions began. Lobelia and Míl dragged him to the bed. Hot water and clean towels were bought. A pitcher of cold water sat on the table.

When he learned he would be a bearer, he feared he would end up like his mother: barren after his first child. It was something that haunted him his whole life until he lost every family member he was truly close to. The Tooks were simply too far away. He had hoped to marry one day, but no one really caught his eye nor had he caught theirs.

He certainly hadn’t expected to find the one person he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with in a foul tempered Dwarf king.

 _Curse him!_ Bilbo thought. _How dare he put me through this alone?!_

The pain stopped, he heard the first wails of his child, wrapped in a towel and handed to him.

“A boy,” Lobelia said. “Whatever foresight those Elves have, it works for them. Other than being a tad small, he’s perfectly healthy, your little one.”

She placed the baby in Bilbo’s arms. A tuft of black hair graced the babe’s head. His tiny fists waved around, protesting the light. Bilbo stroked the baby’s cheek, truly smiling for the first time in months. “Hello, my dear Frodo.”


	2. Chapter 2

~Halimath 22nd, 1366~

Any hopes for an outdoor party were squashed by the heavy rain showers drenching Hobbiton. It was a pity, really. Bilbo wanted to enjoy the last days of summer on their birthday. But it wasn’t enough to dampen his spirits. It wasn’t as though the party would be big. For the most part, he had only deemed to invite a few of his closer relatives (how the Sackville-Bagginses joined that circle, he’ll never know, but the debt he owed Lobelia during his pregnancy wasn’t likely to be repaid as much as it ought to for a very long time. Of course, they still had their spats. They’d not be themselves otherwise) and Míl.

Frodo had hoped for something smaller, but Bilbo squashed that idea with a smirk and comment about how he just wanted to spend the day and night with Merimac Brandybuck. He was allowed the day, but the night was to be share with the others who cared for him. Not just the lad he was courting. He had glared at Bilbo, trying to mask his blush for anger, but Bilbo was unaffected.

Frodo returned after the downpour began, soaking wet, and dripping in water.

“You’re lucky there’s another hour before the guests arrive!” Bilbo snapped. “Go put something dry on then scrub the floors.”

“Yes, Dad,” Frodo said, sighing as he raced to his room. Merimac shifted awkwardly at the door.

Bilbo sighed. “Come in, Mac,” he said.

“Perhaps I can help…”

Bilbo waved him off. “You’re fine, lad,” he said. “Thank you, but my father would crawl out of his grave bed if I let a guest help clean.” It wouldn’t be the first time, but that situation was rather unique as his guests were rather uninvited.

A few minutes later Frodo returned, dry, with a towel for Mac. “Go borrow some of my clothes.” He kissed his cheek and knelt on his knees, wiping the water and mud off the floor. Mac returned a few minutes later, eyeing Frodo’s arse with an appreciative eye and Bilbo, who caught him ogling, shoved him into the kitchen.

“Not in my house, Merimac!”

“Dad!” Frodo cried, a new blush gracing his face, making his freckles stand out a little more. Bilbo winked at him and entered the kitchen.

“Mac, would you like to help set the table?”

“Yes, Mr. Baggins.”

Bilbo pulled out the pottery handing some to Mac and sent him into the dining hall, showing him how to set the table. Frodo entered a beat later, carrying as many wine glasses as he dared.

“The towels?”

“In the hamper,” Frodo said. “The scrub is back in the closet and the water’s joined the rain. Bucket’s _also_ in the closet.” Frodo sent a long-suffering look at Mac. “You’d think I’m still _fourteen_ with the way he goes.” Bilbo smacked the back of his head.

“Lucky for me, you’re not,” Mac said, sitting a chair.

“You’ve had all day to flirt,” Bilbo said. “Stop it.”

The boys snickered and Bilbo sighed. Ah, the joys of raising a tween. Compared to some, he thought he got off lucky. Frodo was relatively well behaved, his many pranks aside. Half of which were his boyfriend’s doing.

Rapid knocking alerted him to the arrival of the guests. Bilbo opened the door, letting the guests pour into the room, muttering about the terrible weather and apologizing for dripping on the floor. Bilbo waved off the apologies, directing the cloaks to the coat rack.

He led them to the dining room while Míl and Lobelia raided the kitchen and helping bring in the food. Frodo glared at Bilbo, trying to mask his discomfort at having his back clapped and shaken to the point that his head bobbed back and forth. At the end of it, the lad was properly dizzy and Mac was chortling behind his back. He earned a well deserved elbow to the ribs for it.

Food was passed around and conversation floated around the room, drowning out the clatter of silverware.  One course became three, then they went to the parlor for tea, cake, and presents. Every so often, Bilbo would look around to make sure the boys had not disappeared to Frodo’s room. They never strayed. When he saw Frodo last, he was in a conversation with Esmeralda Took.

When Frodo’s birth turned out to be more Dwarfish than Hobbitish, Bilbo thought the same would be said for the way the lad aged, but it had not turned out that way, he aged at the same rate as any other fauntling and looked much the same as any other Hobbit. Anyone who didn’t know Frodo well enough would have guessed he was pure Hobbit rather than half-Dwarf.

Bilbo returned his attention to a story Otho was telling.

The years had not been easy. There were times that were downright difficult to care for Frodo and he thanked the Green Lady he had relatives like Otho and Lobelia—and he’d never get over his surprise at that, _never_ —for being able to mediate between the many father and son spats that arose between him and Frodo.

There were still times they fought and sometimes Frodo would be in a right temper. Bilbo had long learned how to weather it, but damn if the boy didn’t have his sire’s fire. Bilbo had hoped Thorin’s looks would be all Frodo would inherit, but that was not to be and he learned that when Frodo had his first real tantrum at one and a half years old.

He screamed, beat his fists on the ground and banged his head against the wood and kicked his feet. All over not wanting to have naptime. It was over in ten minutes. Thankfully, Frodo could control his temper now, which Bilbo was quite happy for. There was still an issue with doors being slammed, but Bilbo took what he would get.

The bell rang, silencing the room.

“Are we missing anyone?” Míl asked.

Bilbo shook his head. Everyone he invited was here. He excused himself, assuring the others that they could continue their conversations and storytelling. He walked down the hall and opened the door. Two Dwarves stood in the doorway.

One was blond. His beard and mustache braided. The other was brunet, his beard, once nonexistent, now come in. He had earned a couple braids in the years since Bilbo had seen him. Their cloaks shielded them from most of the downpour, but they were still quite wet at the trousers and boots.

“Fili? Kili?”

“May we come in?” Fili asked. Bilbo nodded, stepping aside to let them enter. They removed their cloaks, hanging them to dry.

“You, uh, have family now,” Kili asked, indicating the coats.

“A party, actually. Extended family only and a couple of friends.” Kili’s shoulders slumped, relieved. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, lads, but I wasn’t expecting you. Why didn’t you write?”

“Why didn’t you?” Kili shot. Fili grabbed his arm, shaking his head.

Bilbo led them to his study. “I didn’t write because I didn’t think I was allowed to have contact. I was banished, if I recall.” He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. “And everyone could’ve written. I would have written back.”

“True,” Fili said. “I suppose we’re just as at fault.”

“Is it just the two of you?”

“No. Our mother’s ruling as regent in Erebor right now—”

“He’s here?”

“Yes, he’s coming right now. Didn’t want to wait any more than we did. Dwalin’s with him.”

Bilbo hid his face in his hand, massaging his temple. This wasn’t good. “He can’t come here.”

“Why not? Bilbo, it’s been years—”

“You don’t understand, he _can’t_ be here!”

“Why not?” Kili retorted.

Bilbo shook his head. “Please, boys, maybe tomorrow or the day after, but now is a _terrible_ time for Thorin to come. You have to understand, when I left, I took with me more than I thought I would and if Thorin were to find out—”

Fili grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Bilbo, you’re not making any sense. What are you talking about?” The bell rang a second time. Bilbo tensed, his head buzzed.

“Dad? Dad!” Frodo huffed and passed the study.

 _No,_ Bilbo thought, _no, no, no!_ He broke out of Fili’s hold an opened the door. It was too late. Frodo stood at the front of the door, staring up at the new Dwarves outside.

“Dwalin, at your service,” Dwalin said, recovering first to bow.

“Frodo Baggins at yours,” Frodo replied. He turned to the other Dwarf.

“Thorin Oakenshield, also at your service, young master,” he said.

Frodo froze. “Oakenshield?”

“Aye.”

He slammed the door in their faces and stormed away from the door. Bilbo grabbed his arm. “What have I told you about slamming doors?” he hissed, dragging him back to the door. “You will apologize, young man, or so help me—”

“Apologize?!” Frodo shouted, wrenching his arm out of Bilbo’s grasp. “To _him_?! Why is he here?! After everything he did to you—he doesn’t have any right to be here!”

“And that justifies being rude?” Bilbo asked. Frodo raced up the stairs. “Frodo! _Frodo!_ ”

Bilbo sighed. He wasn’t ready for this, but there was little else he could do now. He opened the door. “I’m so sorry about that, Dwalin, Thorin. Come in.” They did so. Dwalin looked as frightening as ever, but his scowl made him especially nasty tonight.

“That boy,” he said. “Who is he?”

Bilbo bit his lip. “He’s…” Thorin stared at him, waiting for the answer. Fili and Kili watched from the study. Bilbo closed his eyes and sighed. “He’s my son.”

“How old is he?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo tried not to wince. This, here, the whole mess was exactly why he didn’t want Thorin coming. He had explained how male hobbits could get pregnant to the company when they asked him about his culture and his people back at Laketown after he had recovered from his cold. It wasn’t long after that Thorin came to his room and…

“Twenty five,” he said. “Frodo is twenty five today.” He dared not look away from Thorin, watching the anger bubbling to the surface. Thorin wasn’t stupid. He was bound to figure it out sooner or later.

Dwalin, cleared his throat. “Fili, Kili, might be best to come out, give the two of them some privacy.” They obeyed, following Dwalin to the parlor. He heard them introduce themselves to the others and conversation slowly picked back up. Bilbo led Thorin into the study.

“I guess you, uh, have some questions?”

“Quite a few,” Thorin growled. “Is he mine?”

Bilbo fumed. “Does he share your blood, you mean? Yes. A little too much of your blood, as you can tell.” Thorin eased himself into a chair, holding his head in his hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me? You easily could have written, or come back—”

“You banished me, remember? And why would I have told you after everything you did? You tried to kill me. You chose a _rock_ over me. After that, do you really think I was going to stay? Or come back to you? I thought if you knew, you’d come for me. I thought you’d steal him from me. As far as I’m concerned, you have no right to be close to _my son_.”

Thorin glowered at him, fury marring his features. “Who are you to deny me the right to know our son?”

“I’ve every right,” Bilbo said. “I carried him for a whole year. I birthed him. I lived through sleepless nights, endured every tantrum, battled away the nightmares, and kissed every bruise while you were ruling in your mountain on top of your gold. _That_ is what gives me the right.” He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “You want to know him? Earn it. From both of us.”

Thorin’s glare smoothed. “What do you mean?”

Bilbo scoffed. “Why do you think he slammed the door in your face?”


	3. Chapter 3

The door creaked open. “Frodo?” Mac whispered. Frodo sat up, crossing his legs and playing with the hem of his trousers. Mac left the door open a crack and joined him on the bed. “Love, what’s wrong?”

“My sire’s here,” Frodo said, clenching his hands into fists.

Mac pulled him into a hug. “Maybe you can find out the other side of the story, then.”

Frodo shook his head. “I don’t want to know,” he whispered.

It was enough to know that his sire, after claiming to love Dad, had tried to kill him. Tried to murder him all because Dad tried to save them all by bartering a stupid _rock_ for their lives. The whole situation was just idiotic and that it was his _sire_ who displayed so little sense…

When he was younger, he’d been curious. He felt something missing from his life and when he realized what, he used to wish to meet his sire, the Dwarf King from his dad’s stories. He was fifteen when those thoughts died.

 _I think you’re old enough to know the truth now, lad_ , Dad told him, pulling him on his knee. _I know you want to meet your other father and maybe one day you will, but I don’t want you to meet him unprepared. Remember the battle I was in? Before you were born? I may have left some things out about what happened before the battle, Frodo…_

Learning his sire tried to kill his father might have broke something in him then, but he grew out of it, accepted it, and couldn’t bring himself to want to meet the man who could have been in his life if not for one, crucial decision. He was glad Dad left. He feared what he might have become or what would have happened to him if Dad had stayed in Erebor.

Still, Dwalin didn’t deserve to have the door slammed in his face. He’d at least apologize to him.

Mac ran his hand through Frodo’s hair. “You want me to see if he’s down there? With the others, I mean. He might still be in your Dad’s study.”

Frodo sighed. “I suppose so. I have to apologize anyway, otherwise Dad’ll have my hide. I’d rather avoid that.” Mac kissed his forehead.

“Don’t let his being here ruin today, Frodo. Okay?”

Frodo smiled. “Okay. I love you.”

“And I love you.” Mac stood and pulled Frodo to his feet. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

Frodo inhaled and exhaled, heading back downstairs. His heart hammered and walking became very hard. He almost feared tripping over his own feet, staring at them to make sure they were placed properly. Mac squeezed his hand and they entered the parlor. Thorin wasn’t there. If he strained, he could hear Thorin and Dad shouting down the hall in the study.

Maybe he should make sure Thorin wouldn’t do anything to his dad, but first things first. Frodo approached Dwalin and cleared his throat. Dwalin looked down at him.

“I am sorry for slamming the door in your face,” he began. “It wasn’t very proper nor was it respectable.” He bowed. “Please accept my humblest apologies.” Dwalin gripped his shoulder, pushing him back up.

“Well, you’re certainly Thorin’s, with way you act.”

Frodo fumed. “I prefer not to have any similarities between me and _him_ pointed out, thank you.”

Dwalin arched a brow. “Why not?”

“Why would I want anything to do with him after he cast my father out and tried to kill him?” Frodo countered, crossing his arms. Mac squeezed his shoulder.

“Take it easy now,” he said. “Want some cake?”

“Maybe later. Thanks though.”

Mac hummed, kissing his cheek and went to annoy his brother instead. Frodo met Dwalin’s gaze again, crossing his arms over his chest. Dwalin huffed.

Frodo left the parlor again, mumbling about getting Dad. He raised his hand to knock.

“I carried him for a whole year,” he heard Dad snarl. Frodo pressed his ear to the door. “I birthed him. I lived through sleepless nights, endured every tantrum, battled away the nightmares, and kissed every bruise while you were ruling in your mountain on top of your gold. _That_ is what gives me the right. You want to know him? Earn it. From both of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you think he slammed the door in your face?”

There was a pause. “So not only did you keep his existence a secret from me, you poisoned him against me?” Thorin asked.

“I did no such thing! I told him the truth, that’s all. He deserved to know why you weren’t in his life and I wasn’t about to tell him you were dead. I used to wonder if telling him the truth was the right decision, but seeing as you decided to show up unannounced, I’m glad I did. At least I don’t have to explain lying to him tonight.” Another pause. “I was too harsh,” Dad said quietly. “You do deserve to know him if you wish, but I certainly wouldn’t want you to try connecting with him without knowing how Frodo feels about…about everything.”

“I should have come earlier,” Thorin said. “I missed you, Bilbo. I never stopped loving you. While I can try to understand why you did so, I wish you hadn’t kept Frodo from me. You knew I wanted to be a father and _still_ you took him from me.”

“I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left. I didn’t know until I was at Beorn’s.”

“You could have written me. You could have told me.”

“I was angry! I thought you didn’t want to see me again and I _certainly_ didn’t want to see you!”

Frodo sighed, and knocked. “Dad?” The door opened. Frodo pointedly did not look at Thorin, though he knew he was watched. “Um, the guests…”

“Oh! Oh dear.” Dad blushed. “Uh—”

“We’ll talk later,” Thorin said.

“Would you like something to eat? There may still be something.”

“No,” Thorin said, clasping his hands together and bowing his head. “I ate before coming here. And no to tea either.”

“Will you not come to the parlor?” Bilbo asked.

“Perhaps later,” Thorin said. Bilbo closed the door, massaging his temple.

“I think there’s some ginger tea if you need it, Dad.”

“Unless there’s quiet, I doubt it’ll work.”

“I apologized to Dwalin.”

“Good.”

#

There were many things Thorin son of Thrain regretted. The loss of his One had always been prominent on his mind in the cold hours of night. He’d been a coward, afraid of returning, of going to the Shire to win back his Hobbit. He had wasted so much time, honoring Bilbo however he could without him by his side. Bilbo was hero to his people, a brave one. Bilbo was the consort-to-be if their king would gather enough courage to approach him and ask his forgiveness again.

His sister had all but kicked his rear out of Erebor, telling him to go and get Bilbo and that he was not to return without him unless there was a damn good reason for him to return empty handed. Only death or that Bilbo had married another in the years Thorin had wasted were reasons deemed good enough.

Never in his dreams would he come to Bilbo and discover that his Hobbit had a son. His son. _Their_ son. A son that, for admittedly very good reasons, despised him and Thorin’s heart broke. When he looked at Frodo at first, he didn’t know who he was and paid the boy no heed. The second time he saw him, when the boy stood in the doorway, reminding Bilbo that they were hosts, he took the time to study Frodo.

He had his pallor. Hair the same shade of black, like raven’s feathers, on his head and feet. The same blue eyes the color of sapphires. The rest of him was all Bilbo. Nose, chin, lips, and build. All of it belonged to Bilbo. From what he had seen of the boy’s behavior as of yet, he guessed he had inherited the infamous Durin temper and Thorin’s penchant for holding grudges.

Son or daughter, Thorin didn’t care, he longed for a child of his own and once settled that he never would have a child to call his own. So he doted on his nephews instead, acted as their father when Víli passed and adopted them into the line of Durin, grooming both to be kings. Kili may never see the throne, nor did he show any interest toward it, but he’d rather both brothers be prepared in case something happened before heirs were produced.

Finding out that Bilbo could bear children had been a blessing from Mahal if ever there was one. He could have both: his One and a child. When he finally accepted that Bilbo was his One, it had been enough. He loved him. He could live without children so long as he had Bilbo.

Not long after their courtship began, Bilbo revealed that certain male Hobbits could bear children and that Bilbo was such a Hobbit. It took him a while to wrap his head around it, but that night, he needed his Hobbit. He needed to show Bilbo how much he loved him.

He never expected that very night would give him the desired child he had longed for. A part of him blamed himself for not going after Bilbo as soon as he could. Perhaps he could have been there for his son then, winning his One’s heart back and watching Frodo grow up.

He stood, looking around the room, searching for anything that might give him any information about Frodo. Thorin’s fingers brushed against the spines of books, pulling them off the shelves and opened them, looking for clues.

The sixth book was a scrapbook of portraits and drawn pictures in colored chalks. He sat down, turning back to the front page and sat back down close to the candle. A portrait of Bilbo sleeping with a baby on his chest was the first one he saw, followed by a portrait of Frodo playing with blocks in a baby’s gown, a triangle block in his mouth.

Each page took him to a different time in the boy’s life until he was old enough to draw and then those, too, were added to the book. His breath hitched at one drawing, crudely done in a child’s hand, of Frodo and Bilbo and a third figure he guessed was supposed to be him.

Thorin closed his eyes, trying to still the roiling emotions racing through him. He had no doubt he would be able to love Frodo. He barely knew the boy and already he loved him. Already he wanted to know him. He wished he had been there for him, to watch him become the man he was bound to be.

He felt anger: deep and righteous anger. How _dare_ Bilbo keep Frodo from him?! How _dare_ he think Thorin was unfit to be there for their boy?! There was no way for him to go back in time and chase Bilbo, discover his One pregnant. He could not kiss Bilbo’s belly and talk to Frodo as he grew inside Bilbo, telling him how much he loved him. He could not go back to the day Frodo was born and hold him in his arms. Could not be there to teach him to walk or talk or see him run, hear his laugh, wipe his tears away.

What he had come back to see was not a baby or a child, but a young man nearing adulthood and Thorin had no idea of how to reach him. He knew himself. Nothing could wrench him away from his deepest anger toward someone he believed wronged him or someone he loved.

He just hoped Frodo was more like Bilbo.

He hoped Frodo would find it in his heart to forgive him.


	4. Chapter 4

Bilbo pounded on Frodo’s door. “Frodo Baggins, it is time to get up!”   


“Are most days like this?” Fili asked sneaking up behind Bilbo.

Bilbo sighed. “He agreed to at least be up in time for second breakfast. It’s nearly time for elevensies,” he said, trying the handle. It rammed into something solid and heavy. Bilbo scoffed. “Dresser. Again. _Frodo_! Get out of bed or so help me—”

“Again?” Fili asked.

“Well, what else is he going to use since he hasn’t a lock?” Bilbo asked, pushing the door against the dresser. Fili helped him shove the dresser out of the way and back in its place as Bilbo approached the open window. “Damn that brat! He ran off again.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“What? No. Likely he left for the woods at dawn.” Bilbo fled the room, feet pattering toward the pantry. “Ah, see! A loaf missing, some apples, and cheese!”

“So he packed a lunch,” Fili said.

“That’s beside the point,” Bilbo muttered. “Whether or not he’s _happy_ about Thorin being here, you’re all still guests and he can’t just go running off into the blue when he wants.”

“I can go find him.”

“No,” Bilbo sighed, combing his hair with his fingers. “He’ll come home eventually. Still, I thought he was done with this running away thing of his…guess not.” Bilbo gathered some eggs to crack and some ham, heading into the kitchen. Fili followed.

“Would you like some help?”

“That’d be nice, thank you,” Bilbo said, sighing. “Though, I still want to know why you four couldn’t have waited until morning to come by.”

“Well, simply, we _couldn’t_ wait. Uncle especially. Dwalin didn’t want him traveling alone.”

“In the Shire?”

“Well, he is a king…”

“The _Shire_ , Fili. Our thieves tend to be little fauntlings and their quarry is pie cooling on windowsills. Besides, I doubt anyone would know who Thorin really is.” Fili hummed and cracked the eggs. “Though I can see why Dwalin would worry. But in that case, why did you and Kili show up without a guard?”

Bilbo smirked at him. Fili shrugged. “We were supposed to stay with them, but we did miss you.”

“Miss me?”

“Don’t mind Kili,” he said. “He’s always been more like Uncle than he likes to admit.”

“Well I’ve noticed that,” Bilbo said rolling his eyes. “And it’s not that I didn’t miss you too, but it would’ve been nice to at least _receive_ a letter to let me know how everyone was doing. I’d have written back, you know.”

“But would you have told us about Frodo?”

Bilbo frowned and turned to the ham he was slicing up. “If it meant Thorin coming here, then no, I probably wouldn’t have. At least not early on…maybe once things were easier for me to accept.”

“Do you really believe that Thorin would’ve tried to take him from you?”

“I honestly don’t remember what I was thinking most of those days, Fili,” Bilbo said.

“You know you’re his One, right? Thorin’s, I mean. He loves you, Bilbo.”

Bilbo scoffed. “Funny way to treat someone you love: dangling them over a ledge to drop them to their death—”

“He was sick,” Fili said. “You know this.”

“It doesn’t excuse him. I understand he was hurt and betrayed, but he was willing to die for _gold_ , Fili. I couldn’t let him do that to the company. I did the only thing I could think of that would have _possibly_ worked. Load of good it did me. If your uncle is determined to make it up to me, he’s welcome to try, but it’s going to take a long time for me to forgive him. I won’t deny him his right to know Frodo, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s welcome to stay if that is what he desires—you all are welcome to stay. It’s just…Fili, I don’t know what you’re hoping for in this visit, but if you want to see your uncle and I together again, then I’m sorry. It’s not going to happen. I trusted him once and look where it got me: I was pregnant and alone. Thorin wasn’t the only one betrayed and I’m not ready to trust him again. I don’t think I ever will be.”

“But you’re willing to let him be here,” Fili said. “You might fall in love with him again.”

Bilbo sincerely doubted it.

#

Frodo’s legs swung under him as the bright autumn sun bore down on the pages of his book. He almost dreaded going home later, but it was unavoidable. Maybe if he packed enough, he could get out of the Shire. Go to Rivendell or maybe the Havens until the Dwarves had left…

His gut clenched. He’d nothing against the Company. Many he’d like to meet, but at the same…

“Do you come here often?”

Frodo looked down at the Dwarf and frowned. “What’s it to you?” he snarled, turning back to his book.

Thorin sighed. “Will you come down?”

“No.”

“Can we not talk?”

“What would be the point?” Frodo stuffed a bookmark in the book and closed it. “You said you loved Dad and then you tried to kill him.”

“And I’ve regretted it since. Frodo, I do love your father. I always will.”

“Pity it’s not good enough,” Frodo muttered. Thorin leapt for the nearest branch and scaled the tree. “What are you doing?”

“Well, since you won’t come down, clearly I must come up,” Thorin said. “After all, I’m not going to shout at you to be heard.” He sat on the branch to Frodo’s right. “You know I didn’t know your father was pregnant when…”

There was a beat and Frodo took a slice of cheese. “I know. That doesn’t change anything.”

“Perhaps if I knew, I wouldn’t have—”

“It doesn’t matter what would happen if you did know,” Frodo said. “You didn’t. You still tried to kill Dad. You picked gold over him. I don’t know what you’re looking for, but if you think for a moment you can just come back and we can be a family, you’re mistaken. I don’t care if you’re my Sire, if you hurt my father again, I’ll…” _I’ll kill you_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back. He grabbed his things and swung off the branch. “Just stay away from us. Stay away from _Dad_.”

#

 _Well that could’ve been worse_ , Thorin thought, watching Frodo stalk off. He leaned against the trunk and sighed, crossing his arms. _He’s more like me than I think he’d like to admit_.

Thorin stared at his boots. A part of him wasn’t convinced that Frodo’s only problem with Thorin had to do with what happened between him and Bilbo. Situations such as these were usually more complicated. Frodo probably believed Thorin had abandoned them. But can that count when one party is unaware of the existence of the child?

He climbed down and decided to try talking to Frodo again later. Someone needed to write a book about how to deal with a teenager…maybe he could ask Dori—

Shouting echoed off the air and Thorin ran toward it, finding Frodo wriggling on the ground with Kili sitting on top of him. Kili grinned.

“Hi, uncle,” he said.

“Kili, what are you doing?”

“Bonding with my little cousin.”

“Get off!”

“Kili.”

Kili rolled his eyes and got off Frodo. “You’re dad’s looking for you anyway.”

“Yeah, I know. Why do you think I’ve not gone home yet?” Frodo snapped, stalking away. Kili snorted.

“Touchy.”

Thorin slapped the back of his head.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lateness of this chapter if you're in a place where it is already monday. (Which isn't my place. It's still sunday where I am, so in some places it's *technically* not late, but it is later than usual.) I got caught up writing the plot map for this story. Still a ways to go but at least I know where I'm going with this now :)

“I had hoped it was just the four of them, to be honest,” Bilbo admitted when he brought out the tea and cake to go with it. “It’s just I’m not sure how I’m going to survive all thirteen of you again.”

“We’ll behave this time,” Bofur promised, grinning behind his pipe.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at him. “You better behave,” he said. “I’ve a son this time around and I will not stand for you tossing around my pottery like _last time_. Is that understood?”

“Oh, aye,” Bofur said. Bilbo wondered if he actually heard him. But someone did.

“Did you say son?” Gloin boomed. Bofur choked. Dori’s needles paused. Nori’s knife slipped from his hands and embedded in the floor. The others simply silenced, staring at Bilbo, who crossed his arms.

“Yes,” he said. “I have a son. And _yes_ , he is also Thorin’s. I might as well get that out of the way. And _yes_ , Thorin met him last night along with Fili, Kili, and Dwalin. No, I do not know where Thorin and his nephews have gone off to, but my son, Frodo, is likely either at his boyfriend’s or in the forest. And _no_ , before you ask, Frodo is not a bearer.”

“Would’ve been nice to know Thorin had an heir,” Balin mumbled.

“ _Fili_ is Thorin’s heir,” Bilbo said. “Frodo grew up just fine without all that nonsense that comes with being royalty. It’s already known he’ll be the head of the Baggins Family when I’m gone. I don’t see why that would change.”

“To be fair,” Dori said, “It’s expected that your son would be next in line. He’s the son of the king.”

“But it was _Fili_ who was groomed for the task. Not Frodo. Besides, what Dwarf would want a Dwobbit for their king? More than that, Frodo is happy as things are now. Look, I’m not saying it’s not hard at times. He’s a tween. It’s _very_ hard to take care of him. But he’s a good lad. I did the best I could.”

“No one’s questioning your parenting, Bilbo,” Balin said. “We believe you did your best and we aren’t going to take your lad to Erebor without your consent!”

“I’d sooner shave my beard,” Gloin added. The others offered agreements. Bilbo sighed, massaging his forehead.

“Fine, perhaps I got a bit defensive,” he admitted. “But it’s been a rather tiring few hours. From everyone showing up unannounced to Frodo running off again…honestly, I’m not sure if I’m angry or upset or merely overwhelmed. It’s good to see you all again, truly, but a little warning would’ve been nice.”

“Didn’t want to risk you running off,” Oin said.

“And we did intend to send word, but we didn’t know how a letter after so much time would be received,” Ori added. “Will we get to meet Frodo, by any chance?”

“Of course,” Bilbo said. “When he comes home, I’ll—”

“Will you get off?!” Frodo shouted from outside. “Kili, I mean it! Get _off_!”

“Not until you agree to give Thorin a chance.”

“You wish!”

They crowded around the windows to see Frodo trying to buck Kili off him, feet kicking and arms straining to push him off. Kili, on the other hand, looked like he was having more fun than he should. Bilbo opened a window.

“Kili! Get off him this instant or so help me…”

Kili jumped off Frodo, who scrambled to his feet and entered the house. “He’s a lunatic!”

“I know,” he said, rubbing Frodo’s back. “How about you go clean up?” Frodo nodded, rubbing his nose which had a dirt smudge caking it, and went upstairs. Bilbo turned to the others. “It’s been twenty-five years and Kili _still_ acts like a child?”

“It’s not likely to change any time soon, I’m afraid,” Dori said. Kili stepped in and paused at the glares.

“What?”

“Kili, the least you can do is _not_ sit on your cousin,” Bilbo said. “Please? And you can’t force him to accept things as quickly as you’d like him to.”

“You didn’t see the way he treated Thorin! If it were me or Fili, it’d be our hides.”

“Well, that’s the difference isn’t it? Thorin was around to be able to give you a hiding. It’s a long time coming before I can let him have that right. Any hiding Frodo needs will be taken care of by me. Besides, he’s usually better behaved. To be perfectly honest, if he accepted Thorin so soon then I’d be worried.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not ready to forgive your uncle either,” Bilbo said. “If he’s staying there’s not much I can do, except find him decent lodgings—and _no_ , I am _not_ letting him stay here. That was a one night thing because the weather last night was awful. The green dragon has good accommodations for everyone and you’ll be well cared for there. In the meantime, have some tea.”

“Lad, I’m not sure the green dragon would be willing to accommodate thirteen dwarves indefinitely,” Balin said. “We aren’t leaving while there’s still hope for—”

“Hope?” Bilbo scoffed. “You all _actually_ believe that what Thorin did was _forgivable_ enough for me to let him back into my life _and_ my son’s life?! I’m willing to let him try and connect with Frodo. I am. But only if that is what Frodo wants to.”

“And what of Thorin’s wants?” Kili asked snidely. “Doesn’t his desire matter?”

“Not to me,” Bilbo said, meeting Kili’s glower. “I know you love your uncle and I can understand that you want him to be happy, but he made his choice and I’m _not_ going to be that fool again. If he really wants to be a family, then I’m sorry. It’s too late. He _made_ his _choice_. Now he has to live with it. He has so far, why change his mind now?”

“Bilbo,” Ori said. “You’re his One. Thorin regrets ever letting you go. He has lived with the regret since he realized what he’d done.”

“We know it doesn’t make it better, Lad,” Balin added, “But—”

“No,” Bilbo snapped. “It doesn’t make it better and frankly I don’t care if he still loves me. I made the mistake of giving him my heart once and look what happened. I’m not taking that risk again. So at the very least will all of you stop trying to make me change my mind?”

He turned his gaze on all of them, watching them bow their heads in shame. Kili only met his gaze with defiance. But eventually he shook his head and crossed his arms.

“I don’t understand how you can justify being this cruel,” he said. “It’s been a long time, Bilbo. I figured you’d have forgiven him by now.”

“He tried to _kill_ me, Kili. I don’t know what sort of romantic notions you live by, but _that_ is not a forgivable act! If staying meant watching my back and never knowing when I’d make Thorin mad enough to carry through that threat then I am _very_ glad to have left when I did. The only good thing I can think of that came out of a relationship with your uncle is Frodo.”

“That’s not true and you know it. Without you, I probably wouldn’t have an Uncle anymore. I know things were difficult when you first met, but his opinion of you changed, didn’t it?”

“Dad, have you seen my blue waistcoat?” Frodo asked, stepping into the parlor, his hair still a touch wet at the ends, but otherwise quite clean and dry.

“Still with the laundry,” Bilbo said. “That grass stain is more stubborn than I thought it’d be.” Frodo blushed. “You’ve still the brown one.” Frodo wrinkled his nose.

“Do I need to wear one then?” Frodo asked. Bilbo wanted to laugh, but he arched an eyebrow instead. Frodo dropped his shoulders. “I’ll get it.” He turned to the group. “Hello,” he said, “Frodo Baggins, at your service.”

 “He wasn’t that polite last night,” Dwalin mumbled.

“Really?” Bilbo said, narrowing his eyes. Frodo bit his lip.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, rushing out of the parlor again.

“He told me he apologized for the door.”

“He did,” Dwalin assured him. “But _that_ was quite different from last night.”

“It was,” Bilbo sighed. “It was very different. I swear I never raised him to behave the way he did last night. It’s just—”

“Thorin,” Bombur said.

“Yes. Exactly.”

“What about me?”

Bilbo paled. How much had he heard? “Nothing,” he said, crossing his arms defensively. “Tea is served if you're hungry.” Thorin arched a brow at him and stepped further into the parlor.

Frodo rushed by, making for the door. “Oh, no you don’t!” Bilbo growled, almost tackling Frodo in his hurry to prevent him from leaving so soon after returning home. Thankfully the others had kept in the parlor—or so Bilbo hoped—as he tightened his grip on Frodo’s arm.

“Dad,” Frodo whispered, “Please, don’t make me have tea with him.”

“Not with him, with _them_. You don’t have to talk to Thorin if you don’t want to, but the others are still friends of mine, Frodo.”

“Yeah, yours,” he said. “I don’t know them.”

“Frodo, it’s been years since I’ve seen them. I know that. And while I don’t like _why_ they’ve decided to visit, they are here and like it or not, you are the son of their king just as much as you are _my_ son.”

“What if they want to take me to Erebor?”

“I won’t let them,” Bilbo said. “Trust your dad, all right? They won’t bite.” Frodo glanced at the parlor. “And after tea, you can go wherever you like. Just be home in time for bed.”

“Just tea?” Frodo asked.

“Just tea,” Bilbo promised.

“Okay,” Frodo said. He huffed and straightened his jacket before following Bilbo into the room. Frodo was soon sequestered by Dori and Balin. Frodo seemed to shrink under their watch but he didn’t seem too distressed, so Bilbo let them be as conversation picked up to how everyone had been otherwise.

“Bilbo, how is it that Frodo knows Khuzdul?” Dori asked, aptly silencing all conversations.

“I had a Dwarven midwife,” Bilbo said, “Who has tutored him every winter back in Ered Luin since he was old enough to make the journey. We go there just before the winter settles in.”

“Míl taught me Iglishmek, too,” Frodo added. “And when I’m older, I’ll be able to get an apprenticeship for a craft if I want. Which might be with Lóf, but I’ve not decided yet. They know I’m half Dwarf, so most don’t mind me speaking Khuzdul.”

“Do others?” Dwalin asked.

“Not that I know of,” Frodo said. “No one knows who my other parent is, only that he’s a Dwarf.”

“Who’s Lóf?” Fili asked.

“A friend,” Bilbo said. “He would’ve been at the party last night, but he was behind on a certain commission from a noble family and couldn’t make it.”

“What sort of commission?” Nori asked. “What sort of work does he do?”

“He’s a potter,” Bilbo and Frodo said. Bilbo arched a brow at the stares directed at him. Some were dark, others were confused, and all were filled with distrust.

“Lóf is a good friend of mine,” Bilbo said, “And has been since Frodo was a fauntling. He’ll be here in November, so I _ask_ , if you are still here at that time, that you’ll be polite if nothing else. Now please, I don’t want to have extra cake! I’m begging you all: _eat_. Do we need more tea?” He picked up the pot. “Let me refill this.”

As he fled to the kitchen, he could feel Thorin’s eyes on him—it had to be Thorin’s. The only pair of eyes that ever made him want to shiver, whatever the reason, was his and only his.

Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to mention Lóf just yet.


	6. Chapter 6

Frodo left after tea, feeding the others a lie about a previous engagement arranged with a friend. Likely, he’d just go to the Brandybucks for a couple hours. After he left, the Dwarves muttered to each other in Khuzdul.

Bilbo heard a couple recognizable words, but only his name, Frodo’s and Lóf’s. He wished they’d not, but he supposed there was little he could do about it as it was.

“So.”

Bilbo looked over his shoulder at Thorin. “Yes?”

“A Dwarven potter who has given the name Lóf?” Thorin asked, arching a brow.  

Bilbo set the dishes down and crossed his arms. “What about Lóf?”

“Is that even his real name?”

“Why would he give a fake name? No one knows _your_ Frodo’s father, Thorin. And I doubt that all the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains would know you on sight. Least of all Lóf. He is no assassin or kidnapper, Thorin. He’s a friend and I trust him if nothing else.”

“I’m not questioning your judgment,” Thorin said. “If I learned anything from the time we spent together, it’s that you, more often than I cared to admit, have an excellent intuition, Bilbo. But I don’t know him and you’ve allowed him to be near Frodo.”

“Oh, for the love of—Thorin, if I didn’t think Lóf was trustworthy, I’d never have befriended him, _let alone_ allow him near Frodo. I don’t need to justify having friends outside my relations.”

“He is my son, too,” Thorin snapped. “And I _don’t_ know this Dwarf as well as you.”

Bilbo leaned against the counter, glaring at Thorin. “You’ve not been here two days. You’ve no right to tell me, or Frodo, who he can meet and befriend. I said you can stay and get to know Frodo, but you do not get to question how I raised him.”

“I’m not! I don’t trust this Dwarf!”

“And why is that?” Bilbo asks. “Are you jealous?”

Thorin’s jaw tightened and his mouth drew into a line.

Bilbo scoffed. “Of course you are. But to make it sound like you’re questioning how I raised him—”

“Bilbo, I’m _not_ challenging you! Yes, I am jealous that someone else has been in your life when I haven’t. I am jealous because I love you and I will do everything in my power to prove it. But if you think this _Lóf_ is only interested in you as a friend—”

“You’ve not even _met_ him, Thorin! You know _nothing_ about him! Lóf has always ever only been a good friend of mine! I trust him and there is nothing more to say on the matter. You’ll just have to take my word for it. You, on the other hand, are the one I do not trust. And even then, I am allowing you to try and connect with Frodo because Frodo is old enough to make his own decisions and I trust him to make the right ones. I have given you a lot of freedom in this already.” He cut himself off before the threat wanting to be voiced fell from his lips. He swallowed them down and inhaled.

“I see,” Thorin said. He stepped back. “I will gather the others and we’ll head to the inn. Good evening, Master Baggins.”

He reached for Bilbo’s hand and stopped before lowering it and his fingers curled into a fist. He left, striding out the door, and barking at the others to come with him. It was met with some protests, but eventually, everyone slipped out of the house.

It was almost too empty and when he closed his eyes, he could see the heartbreak etched on Thorin’s face again. Bilbo shook his head, pinching his eyebrows together. More silver in his hair, a few more lines—not as much as Bilbo’s true, but still more than since they were last together—eyes as blue as ever…Bilbo shook his head.

Meeting Thorin again proved that his worst fear—that he still loved him—was true. Loving Thorin had burned him once. He wasn’t keen on getting close to those flames again.

#

He turned the dry pages carefully, pausing every so often to study them from the curve of Bilbo’s mouth, the dimples on Frodo’s cheeks, and the point of their ears. He read the short paragraphs, usually about something funny or endearing Frodo had done that day.

They were his and they were not.

“Uncle?” Kili called from the other side of the door, followed by pair of knocks. Thorin stood and allowed him to enter. Kili’s eyes went to the album resting on the bed. “I, uh, am planning to write to Amad in the morning, but what should I tell her about…well…what you’ll do?”

Thorin hadn’t given it much thought beyond staying to get to know his son and win Bilbo back, if he could. He swallowed.

“She’ll need to know everything and she’ll want to know she has a nephew. And tell her…tell her that I am considering abdicating the throne to either her or Fili. Tell her it’s not a definite decision yet. I still need to talk to Balin and the others about it. And anyone who wishes to stay with me in the Shire may do so.”

“You think he won’t go back?”

“I know he won’t. I can’t leave him again. Even if he never forgives me, I won’t let my son grow up without both of us another minute if I can help it.”

“It’s not fair,” Kili muttered. “They both are. It’s been long enough. Bilbo should forgive you and Frodo doesn’t know you well enough to treat you that way!”

“I don’t think this is a matter of being fair to me or in general. If our places were switched…I would probably be worse than them. All in all, Kili, Bilbo is giving me more than I deserve.”

“He’s not giving you anything!” Kili snapped. “You belong together! You always have! He’s your One and you deserve to be with him! You’ve punished yourself enough! Why do they get to punish you _now_?!”

“The entire situation is a mess. It’s festering wound. I will never deserve my family, Kili, even if they do forgive me or trust me enough to let them back into their lives. To be honest, I never deserved Bilbo. He will always deserve better, and still I fell in love with him. And of course I still love him. I tried to let him go once and now I know I don’t think I can. Not again. I know it’s selfish, but seeing him, meeting my son…I can’t be selfless anymore. I will take what I can. For now, that’s whatever Bilbo and Frodo are willing to give me. I might never be able to have my One again, but if they forgive me enough to let me stay in the Shire…that’ll be enough.”

Kili embraced him. “Thorin, you deserve to be happy. You lost too much already to not deserve happiness, even if you can’t be a family again. It feels like they’re going to chip away at whatever joy you still have.”

“Bilbo is not that cruel,” Thorin said.

“But his brat is,” Kili said. “Frodo’s been nothing but disrespectful to you. You’re his father—”

“Kili, he’s more like me than he wants to admit. Just as you are more like your own father than you can ever know.” Thorin released him. “Go to bed, Kili. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Kili huffed before he left.

Thorin picked up the album and glanced at another portrait from a few years ago. Frodo beamed at him from on top of Bilbo’s shoulders. His smile was bright and mischievous. Bilbo’s smile was more resigned and there was a hinted sorrow in his eyes.

Thorin sucked in a breath touched the page, tracing the lines of Bilbo’s cheek.

#

The house is dark when he returned and the windows shuttered. Frodo assumed his father had gone to bed already, but on stepping inside, he noticed the hearth glowing and heard a crackle of sparks flying from within it.

“Dad?”

“In here.”

He entered the parlor and leaned against the entry way. Bilbo was drinking tea. “I wasn’t aware I was late. I mean, I know it’s dark, but I swear the clock read eight when I left Mac’s.”

Bilbo chuckled. “You’re not in trouble,” he said. “Far from it, lad. It’s not even nine o’clock.”

Frodo sighed and sat in the opposite chair, pulling his legs up. “Then why are you sitting in the dark?”

“No reason,” Bilbo said. “Thorin and the others left after you did.”

Frodo frowned. “Did you get into a fight with him?”

“Ah, well, yes. I suppose we could call it a fight. Thorin tends to get jealous easily. He lost a lot in his life, so he likes to hold onto what he can, you see.”

Frodo scoffed. “Little late to try holding onto you like that, you think?”

“Yes.” He raised the cup to his lips again. Frodo waited for the cup to be lowered again before venturing his next question.

“How long will they be staying?”

“I’m not sure. They could be here through the winter. And if they go, I can’t be certain Thorin will go with them. I doubt it, though.”

“He should go,” Frodo growled. “He doesn’t belong here.”

“He just wants to know you, Lad. I’m not saying I like him being here. I don’t. But he wants to know you and how close he gets to you is your decision.”

“I don’t want to know him!” Frodo shouted. “I don’t want anything to do with him!”

Bilbo meets his gaze with an arched brow, unimpressed. Frodo huffed and mumbled an apology for raising his voice, shoulders slumping. Bilbo set the cup down on the table.

“I know you don’t want anything to do with him, Frodo. But there was a time once where you would have given anything to know him anyway. It was not my intention to make you despise him.”

“I know that. I don’t hate him because of what you told me, Dad. I hate him because he has no right to us and he shouldn’t act like he does.”

“And I will not allow him to even think so, but I did tell him he may try to get to know you if he likes and he certainly wants to know you, Lad. Beyond that, he can’t do anything without my permission. Or yours. No matter what you think of him, he is still your sire and he wants to know you. Even if only a little bit. I won’t deny him that, but is all I’m letting him have.”

“For now,” Frodo muttered. “You still love him, don’t you?”

Bilbo didn’t answer, staring at the flames.

He stood up and gathered the tea set. “I think I’ll turn in early,” he said.

“Dad—”

“Put the fire out before you go to bed.”

Frodo slumped in his seat. “Yes, Dad. Goodnight.”

He watched Bilbo retreat to the kitchen and waited for the door to the master bedroom close before he pulled his knees to his chin and watched the fire. Why did the Dwarf have to come back? He had to know he wouldn’t get another chance!

If he wanted to know Frodo, then Frodo would make it clear that Thorin wasn’t wanted or needed. Not after everything he’d done.


	7. Chapter 7

Thorin didn’t return for a couple weeks. In that time, the others would take turns visiting.

Bifur would converse in Khuzdul with Frodo, telling him stories of battle and war that left Frodo wide eyed in awe.  Sometimes he’d tell a funny story about his cousins and Bilbo only knew they were about Bofur and Bombur because one or both of them would start arguing with Bifur about the events. Bombur usually stayed out of this, helping Bilbo cook.

The brothers Ri didn’t like excluding Bilbo in their conversations—not that the Urs meant to or really tried to. Ori would show off his work now that he was a master scribe and Dori had a habit of wanting to tame Frodo’s curls, but he kept jumping out of the way, arms over his head. Bilbo and Nori often laughed at that and Nori showed Frodo some of his tricks. Frodo had wanted to learn, but Bilbo told him that it would only be for party tricks if he did.

Oin usually took to examining the herbs in Bilbo’s garden while Gloin waxed more poetry about his own family. He was under the impression that Frodo would get along with Gimli. Bilbo couldn’t be sure of that. Possible? Maybe. The boys would have to meet first before anyone could say they’d get along. Gloin admitted to almost bringing Gimli now that he was old enough to travel places on his own, but he didn’t like leaving his wife alone at home.

Balin was interested in what Frodo knew about his Dwarven ancestors. Frodo knew enough to satisfy Balin’s worry that Frodo’s education as a prince of Durin’s line was lacking. Dwalin was more curious on whether Frodo knew how to use a weapon. Frodo knew how to use a sword and as he was more hobbit-sized, another friend of theirs—a smith back in Ered Luin—had made him one. Bilbo also said that when Frodo was old enough and Bilbo had no need of it, he’d inherit Sting. Dwalin wisely kept his mouth shut about how the sword was Thorin’s preferred weapon of choice.

Fili visited every couple days and it didn’t take long for Bilbo to learn that if Fili was stopping by, he and Frodo would be leaving soon. They usually talked or Fili taught Frodo a new trick with a sword. And Frodo always had something new to show Bilbo. Fili, unlike his brother, wasn’t trying to force Frodo to accept anyone. Why Kili thought pushing Frodo to like anyone he simply wouldn’t would work, Bilbo didn’t know. Fili, on the other hand, seemed to focus more on building a bond with Frodo instead.

“It’s a respect thing,” Fili said to Bilbo one night. “Kili and I grew up knowing that regardless when you saw both parents, you had to respect them. Kili thinks Frodo’s being disrespectful to Thorin. Which he kind of is, but…well, I get it. I was there. If my dad had done what…uncle had, sickness or no sickness, I don’t think I’d be able to forgive him. Kili has always been a romantic and happy go lucky about these things. He doesn’t understand why you and Frodo would be so against Thorin?”

“But you do?”

“Enough to know that it’s not as simple as Kili thinks it is. Thorin knows that it’s not. He might have hoped, but with Frodo, I think things have become more complicated. Even if you and Frodo despise him, he isn’t going to leave again.”

Bilbo sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

“I get it, though, really. If it were me, I don’t know if I’d be able to let someone who hurt me near my child. I wouldn’t trust them.”

“I don’t trust him, Fili. But Frodo’s growing up and I’m willing to give him some more freedom. Let him grow up. When he’s thirty he’ll be able to get a job somewhere. Or apprentice. It’s young, but it’s somewhere to start at least until he’s old enough to do _my_ job.”

“You know, I never really knew what that was.”

“I’m a landlord. I have various houses around the Shire and make monthly rounds to collect a rent.” Fili’s eyes widened. “The Baggins family is one of the wealthiest in the Shire, actually.”

“You’re a lord?!”

“The government system in the Shire is not the same as any among the other peoples,” Bilbo said. “So while it may seem _similar_ to a lord, it’s not quite like that. I don’t have vassals or servants.”

“Then what’s your gardener? You pay him to keep your garden nice for you, don’t you?” Fili asked, smirking. Bilbo glared at him. “See, that’s a servant position. You might not _call_ them servants, but it's much the same.”

“The terms you use imply that there’s hierarchy among us. We do not establish hierarchy over who is noble or wealthy, but by respectability, Fili, and who is most proper. Sure, there are Hobbits who think they are more proper than another, but what is proper and respectable are based on a few things _such as_ humbleness, politeness, conduct. For instance, I am not considered respectable because I went on an adventure, but managed to gain some of it back because I treat the people around me as an equal—which falls into conduct and politeness. When I had to remind you all that I’m just an ordinary hobbit that is humble—”

“That’s not humble, Bilbo, that’s self-deprecating,” Fili said. “As for politeness, well, no amount of adventuring could get rid of that. You were often too polite if you ask me. But you know, you could be quite vicious when you wanted to be.” Bilbo gaped. Him? Vicious? Since when had he ever been vicious? If this was about Thorin, well, he thought he was being exceedingly fairer than he deserved. He glanced above Bilbo’s head at the clock and stood. “I should get back before someone comes looking for me. Good night, Bilbo.”

Bilbo nodded and saw him to the door. “Take care of yourself, Fili,” he said. Fili nodded and left, pulling his cloak tighter around him to block the cooling air.

He closed the door and sighed, leaning against it. _Am I vicious?_

#

“There’s a new blacksmith,” Hamfast said during a quiet tea void of Dwarves. “A Dwarf opened shop by the river. I think it’s one of yours. Black and silver hair, blue eyes. Broody—”

“Yep,” Bilbo said, setting his cup down before it broke. “That’s one of them.”

“Is it Frodo’s Sire?” Bell asked. “The coloring he has is similar to your boy’s.”

Bilbo sighed. It certainly sounded like Thorin, but he couldn’t be sure. It could be a new Dwarf. He doubted it and dared not to hope. “It…might be,” he said. “Though I’d rather no one know that. I’ll have to see for myself before I can say for sure.”

“Why?” Hamfast asked. “I know you and the lad’s sire didn’t part on good terms, but wouldn’t it be good for him to be back?”

“No,” Bilbo said. “It is anything _but_ good.”

Once they left, he ventured toward the forge. Gloin was outside, speaking with various Hobbits about commission prices versus the cost of pre-made items. Within he found Thorin and Dwalin at work. Dwalin nodded at Bilbo and motioned that Thorin would be out in a moment. Bilbo nodded and stepped outside, arms crossed and staring at his feet.

“Bilbo?”

He looked up and met Thorin’s eyes with a glare. “What are you doing?”

“Working,” Thorin said. “I figured that would be obvious.” Bilbo noticed a few curious onlookers and seized Thorin’s tunic, pulling him away from the nosy old women. Really there had to be something _better_ people could do.

“You set up shop?”

“Well, we decided to stay through the winter. We may go with you and Frodo to Ered Luin—”

“ _No_.”

Thorin didn’t look impressed. “I believe that is a choice we made ourselves. Some of us do have friends there we haven’t seen in a while. And you two will be heading that way as well.”

“If you must go there, leave before or after Frodo and I do, but we will _not_ travel together. We’ve managed many times before. This is no different.”

Thorin sighed. “Not everyone will be returning to Erebor in spring,” he said. “I know I will not be. I cannot speak for the others. I’m going to abdicate to my sister until she feels Fili is mature enough to rule on his own. In the meantime, why not be productive and make some money to buy a house, food, clothes? These things are necessary for survival _anywhere_ , Bilbo.”

“You are _not_ —”

“I am,” Thorin said. “What I do is not your choice to make.

“You only want to stay because of me and Frodo.”

“I will not deny that,” Thorin said. 

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a breath before he met Thorin’s gaze. “I can’t stop you from staying, so I won’t bother,” he said. “Nor can I stop you from going to Ered Luin, so do what you like. But you’re not coming _with us_.” He turned on his heel and left, grinding his teeth.

Why was dealing with Thorin so bloody impossible?!

He supposed that was just unique to Thorin and him. Still, he didn’t go over the entire bloody continent to de-dragon a mountain just so said mountain’s king could abdicate his throne and title to be with him.

 _I’ll just go home, bake an apple pie and some cinnamon spice tea,_ he thought.

It was a good plan, all in all. But all good things usually come to an end.

Such was the case when after Bilbo had finished baking and took to cooking dinner when Frodo came home. “Dad, you didn’t get caught yelling at Thorin at the forges did you?”

He set the potatoes down before he dropped them. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Frodo entered. “Well, everyone seemed to figure out that Thorin’s my sire and kept asking me if you two would get back together. You’re…not…are you?”

“No, lad,” Bilbo said. “And I’d _like_ to say never…”

“I get that,” Frodo said. “So did you yell at him?”

“He took over a forge and told me he intended to get a house eventually as well go to Ered Luin. Now, granted, I can’t stop him from doing any of that—you can have pie after supper.” Frodo retracted his hand and pouted. He thumbed through the mail instead. “But I can make sure he doesn’t go _with_ us to Ered Luin.”

“Okay. Lóf wrote.”

“Open it after dinner,” he said.

Frodo nodded and set it aside. He glanced out the window. “Dad, Lobelia’s coming.”

“Oh, God. She probably heard,” Bilbo muttered. Frodo was already at the door, greeting her.

“Is it true?” she asked.

“Good evening, Lobelia, wonderful evening isn’t it?”

“Bilbo.”

“Fine, yes. He’s staying. I’m not happy about it.”

“I daresay not! Were you about to have dinner? Bit late isn’t it?”

“Not too late,” Bilbo said.

“Anyway, would you like me to talk to him?”

“No,” Bilbo said. Lobelia crossed her arms. “Look I appreciate the gesture, but if he wants to stay, he can stay. I don’t have control over what Thorin does.”

“I kind of want to see that,” Frodo said. Lobelia and Bilbo glared at him and his smile died. “Sorry. But it would be funny to see a Dwarf getting talked down to by a Hobbitess in a pink bonnet and ruffles.”

Bilbo cuffed him over the ear. “Behave.” Frodo mumbled a “yes Dad” as he rubbed the offended ear. “I don’t need anyone to do anything about this, Lobelia. I can handle Thorin myself. But thank you for offering anyway.”

She huffed. “If you’re certain, then I won’t get involved. _However_ , if he tries _anything_ don’t expect me not to whack him with my umbrella.” Frodo winced and Bilbo nodded.

“I can’t suppose I can’t ask for more than that,” he said. “If that’s all Lobelia…or if you’d like to stay—”

“No I have to get supper ready,” she said. “But perhaps Otho and I will be by for tea tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

Once she had gone Frodo spoke:

“You think there will ever be a time she’ll only come by when she’s invited?”

Bilbo ruffled his hair. “Doubtful.”


	8. Chapter 8

Getting invited to some meal or other, Thorin realized, was more often then he assumed. Aside from that nearly everyone in Hobbiton had found out that he was Frodo’s father and were curious about why he stayed away so long.

Not that he had any choice. He didn’t know Bilbo was pregnant when he left. There was only so many times he could say, “I didn’t know I had a son,” until it got tiring.

Now he stood at the fourth house he’d been invited to. By some frightening woman whose surname suggested she had some relation to Bilbo. S-Baggins, or something of that line. The most Thorin remembered about her is how much bloody _pink_ she wore. It gave him a headache and irritated him for some reason he could not understand.

Still, he didn’t want to offend the locals, it was bad for business and if he was to stay, he would need their patronage. He sighed and approached the door, pounding his fist against the door before wrapping his cloak tighter around him.

The cold was getting worse. He could only thank the maker they had enough buy the house—never mind how wealthy they were now. Thorin still couldn’t break the habit of saving coin even though he wasn’t likely to run out anytime soon.

The door opened and the woman stood in front of him, wearing an ugly pumpkin orange skirt and deep red vest. How could Bilbo be related to her?

“Master Oakenshield, how wonderful it is to see you,” she said. Thorin nodded, following her inside. “I hope you like lemon tea, I thought it’d go well with the zucchini bread I just made.”

 _What in Durin’s name is “zucchini bread”?_ Thorin thought, deciding it’d be wiser to keep his mouth shut. She left him in the parlor, urging him to take a seat.

The house was just as eccentric as her and there were far more doilies about than there were in Bilbo’s when he’d been there before—somehow they all disappeared and he hadn’t had the chance to ask why—and the pottery was hideously loud.

“So, how long to you intend to grace our little Shire?” she asked, returning with a tray with a porcelain teapot and matching cups. There was an ugly brown cake in the center which seemed to harbor…fruit? Thorin tried not to wrinkle his nose.

“Uh, indefinitely,” he said.

She hummed, “Because of your family, I’m sure—yes, I know you’re Frodo’s Sire. I’m sure you’ve had to answer that question far too much. You’ll have to forgive them. They ask for two reasons: confirmation and curiosity.”

“But not you,” Thorin stated.

“Of course not,” she said. “If you recall, I was _there_ when you finally saw fit to come back.”

Ah, she was there. He didn’t see her. Probably a good thing…

“So to be frank, Mr. Oakenshield, I’m not interested in who you are. I want to know what you’re thinking of doing now that you’ve come. If you’ve not noticed, Bilbo’s moved on with his life. He didn’t have much of a choice, you know, not with a child to care for.”

“I’m aware—”

“Are you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Thorin wouldn’t quake under this stare, no matter _how_ similar to Dis it seemed.

She continued on: “You’re aware of how difficult a time Bilbo had since he gave birth. It’s not easy for a single parent to care for a babe while also dealing with an illness midwives such as myself call Mother’s Sorrow. It’s quite an inaccurate name as it seems to affect our bearers more than women. Looking back, I’m not surprised Bilbo caught it. He’s always been independent, no matter how much he loves his boy. Thankfully, he wasn’t alone. Míl, his Dwarven midwife, was with him through the brunt of it when I couldn’t be available.”

“I don’t…”

“Of course,” She said. “Mother’s Sorrow may have a different name among your people, but it’s a form of depression, Mr. Oakenshield. Bilbo was subject to increased irritability, even angry half the time. He had difficulty sleeping and not just from Frodo's crying. He’d have some of the worst mood swings I’d ever seen in a bearer. He felt far too often that he was a bad father. Míl and I did our best to assure him otherwise, but there is little a midwife can do when the bearer is alone without a partner or spouse to make sure no harm befalls the carrying parent or the baby. Thankfully, it never progressed that far. Bilbo conquered it after some time and you can see the results for yourself. There’s no such thing as a perfect parent, but Bilbo has done the best he could. Frodo’s healthy, happy, and one of the finest Hobbits I’ve had the pleasure to birth—yes, I know he’s not fully a Hobbit,” she said, cutting Thorin off before he could protest. “But that is the life he lives. He’s certainly one of us, even if his blood is only half.”

Thorin swallowed. “Why tell me this?”

“Because _that_ is when you were needed. Not now.”

“I didn’t know—”

“That you didn’t know you had a son is an excuse and always will be. A good king you may be, but to think you’ve any right to them now is the thought of a fool. As I said before, Bilbo overcame his depression and moved on with his life to make sure his boy grew up hale. He didn’t deny Frodo answers to who he is and he didn’t lie to him about what become of you.”

“So you want me to leave.”

“I’d like to say so, but what _I_ want doesn’t matter. This is between you and Bilbo, but tread carefully if you do decide to stay despite all hope of winning Bilbo back or having a relationship with your son. As it is, having both is unlikely. But _if_ you are let back into their lives completely, know that there is no place in Arda that will be safe enough for you to hide if you if you hurt them again. Morgoth has _nothing_ on the things I can and will do to you if anything befalls Bilbo and Frodo.”

The list of things that scared Thorin was short. Very short, and most of them nonphysical: another dragon coming to Erebor, not being able to care for his people, and his family going hungry another winter were all on that list. But at the top of it was Dis’ anger.

He didn’t think he’d meet a woman who may, quite possibly, be his sister’s equal.

“Understood,” he said. It was really the only thing he could say.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“No, not particularly,” he said. “I should actually get back to work.”

“Of course, enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. Oakenshield.”

Thorin doubted it, but he bowed his head and fled, pulling the hood of his cloak up over his head in hopes of keeping dry from the rain.

As he returned to the forge, her words echoed through his head.

He wanted to laugh. No one asked his side, it seemed.

What had he gone through when Bilbo left?

No one asked him about how the words he said to Bilbo that day haunted his steps, the voice in the back of his head, echoing how his One left because of his greed and his selfishness. No one inquired about whether he saw himself as worthy of forgiveness. They assumed that he thought he was when he didn’t. He wasn’t _that_ much of a fool.

His companions knew, yes.

They knew of the sleepless nights and the drinking.

They knew of the days where he woke from dreams so vivid of a life with Bilbo that waking up left him expecting to see honey curls facing away from him only to find the other side empty and cold.

They knew of the tears he tried to hide in the silence of his room—usually caught by his nephews or sister when he couldn’t pull himself together long enough to pretend everything was all right.

He lived with what he’d done and he knew he lost Bilbo, tried to live with what he’d done and if being here proved anything then it proved that he had failed. Even if he couldn’t be forgiven, even if he couldn’t hope for a life where his son wouldn’t hate him and where his beloved Hobbit could love him again, he was going to stay. He couldn’t leave now that there was more at stake than just losing Bilbo. He wasn’t going to let his past or his guilt keep him from being with his son.

Thorin had meant to return to the forge, pour everything he had to give into making something either to sell or perhaps gift Bilbo—not to open a courtship, of course. No. If Bilbo wanted that, he could initiate it this time. Instead, he found himself walking on Bagshot Row toward Bag End.

When in sight of the house, he saw someone peering through the windows, cloak slapping in the wind, gloved hands clutching at the hood to keep it from blowing off his head. A Dwarf he didn’t recognize, if the boots were anything to go by. He curled his fingers around a dagger strapped to his waist and made to approach the Dwarf. Bilbo was running down the opposite side.

“Lóf, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t expecting you till the day after tomorrow,” Bilbo shouted above the patter of rain. He opened the door and let him in.

Thorin watched the lights in Bag End turn on.

 _Move. Go back to the forge. Or go home,_ he told himself. He stopped outside the gate, looking at the door again. He ground his teeth, telling himself to let them be, to let go of his dagger, to ignore the voice screaming _mine_ in the back of his head.

Instead, he passed the gate and approached the door. He pounded on the door and waited for it to open. When it did, Bilbo’s confusion quickly changed to irritated.

“I thought you had work.”

“It can wait,” Thorin said. “Who was that I just saw?”

“Lóf, not that it’s any of your business, Thorin,” Bilbo said, crossing his arms.

“May I come in?” Thorin asked.

“Why?”

“As I said before, I don’t know him and I have no cause for trusting him—”

“And I believe I made it clear that I don’t _care_ if you don’t trust him,” Bilbo hissed, pulling on Thorin’s cloak so to whisper. “I know him. I trust him. That is all that matters to me and this has nothing to do with Lóf. You know that. _You_ don’t trust _me_. That is what this is about, Thorin.”

“Bilbo?”

He released Thorin and turned away. “Yes? Did you find the pantry all right?”

“I did. Just _how_ much cheese do you need?”

“Well…”

Thorin stood in the doorway, staring at Lóf.

For Dwarves, his appearance was quite standard from the long nose, chestnut hair and beard that came to his sternum braided in steel or silver. His eyes were a green similar to pure jadeite. His skin is pale compared to the tan that most Ereboreans had developed from their wandering days. He was dressed in brown leather and fur, cloak hanging on the rack and boots already set aside.

Lóf smiled— _smiled_ —at him.  “Lóf, at your service,” he said bowing. He straightened, wrapping an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders. Thorin ignored the glare Bilbo sent him and the quick Iglishmek message about leaving. “Are you one of the Dwarves Bilbo met on his adventure?”

 _That should be obvious,_ Thorin thought. “I am,” he said, entering the house. Bilbo could fume all he wanted. “I’m Frodo’s Sire—the term is _sire_ , is it?” he asked Bilbo.

“It is,” Bilbo said, teeth clenched.

“I can tell,” Lóf said. “Frodo bears a strong resemblance to you.”

“I’m aware. And I’ve yet to introduce myself,” he said, crossing his arms. “Thorin Oakenshield, at your service,” he offered a smaller bow, relishing in how Lóf’s smile fell. “I take it you’ve heard of me.”

Lóf looked at Bilbo. “You never said that…”

“Well I couldn’t exactly advertise that Frodo’s the son of an arrogant _pothead_ , could I?” Bilbo spat. “And Thorin was just leaving.”

“But I just got here.”

“Yes, but you aren’t staying. Someone has to close shop at the forge.”

“Dwalin and Gloin can handle it,” Thorin said.

“He asked you to leave,” Lóf said. “I think you should leave.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo sighed. Thorin sneered at Lóf, resisting the urge to beat him bloody (for a number of reasons, starting with the arm still around Bilbo’s shoulders that shouldn’t be there).

“Later, then,” Thorin said.

“Good,” Bilbo said, pushing him out the door. “Don’t _ever_ do that again.” He shut the door in his face and Thorin leaned against it.

_Mahal, help me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mother's Sorrow is the only thing I could come up for a middle earth version for Postpartum Depression: http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/postpartum-depression/basics/definition/con-20029130


	9. Chapter 9

“You seem tense,” Lóf said. Bilbo scoffed, grating cheese angrily. “I take it you haven’t forgiven him for whatever it is he’s done?”

“Oh, believe me, I thought I had forgiven him,” Bilbo said, setting the block down and putting it down. “But I suppose there’s fine line between forgiveness and trust. I can forgive him, and for a while I thought I had. His being here simply proves I’ve yet to do even that. Trusting him, however…I don’t think I can ever trust him again.”

“Still, I think I would have liked to know Frodo was the son of the King under the Mountain.”

“You mean to know that he’s a prince,” Bilbo corrected. “Well, I certainly have not raised him as one. Besides, I doubt he’d be seen as a proper heir to Erebor’s throne since he’s only _half_ Dwarf. I’m sure that the noble class would see him as less than worthy because of it. At least here I was able to raise him away from all that madness.”

Lóf hummed, leaning on the table. “Bilbo, what did he do?” Bilbo sprinkled the cheese over the casserole and shoved the pan in the oven. “All I know is that it was bad. I’d ask Frodo, but I doubt he’d tell me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he would. As angry as I am at Thorin, Frodo’s…he can be quite spiteful toward those who hurt the people he loves.  Believe me. I didn’t raise him to be cruel. But Thorin can hold a grudge like no other I’ve known and it seems that’s been passed to Frodo as much as I hate it. Believe me. He’d tell you all about it if he asked. Lóf, there is no reason for you to hate him.  I’d rather you not know. Just know that he hurt me and I’m not ready to let him back into my life.”

“But you let him near Frodo?”

“He’s his father and he wants to know him. I can deny him a lot, but what he did is between me and him. Unless he hurts Frodo or tries to take him from me, I’m willing to let him try to connect with him. The thing is, Frodo’s going to give him hell for it.”

Lóf drummed his fingers against the table. “I see. What if he cuts his hair?”

“I doubt he’d do that.”

“You’re his One.”

“So he thinks.”

“Bilbo, we’ve been friends a long time,” Lóf said. “I’ve only just met him and barely spoke five minutes and I can tell that he still loves you. I wouldn’t underestimate how far he’d go. He’s here for you as much as he is for Frodo.”

Bilbo sighed, massaging his temple. “It doesn’t matter to me why he’s here,” he said. “He could be here to start a circus—knowing him, it’d be easy. He’s rather charismatic in his own way—and I’d still not want to go back to him.” He lowered his hand and crossed his arms, staring at the floor. “I just…I don’t know how to make him understand.”

“I think he does,” Lóf said. “I think there’s more than just responsibility playing in his absence. I may not know what happened and may not want me to know, but I don’t think he’d come back after all this time if he wasn’t pushed to. I think he’s ashamed of whatever he did to you. And does he think we’re courting?”

“I think he does,” Bilbo said, “Which is ludicrous.”

“Yes, it is,” Lóf said, averting his gaze to the cup in his hand. “Where is Frodo, anyway?”

 “With Mac, I think, getting ready for the Harvest Festival and the Dead Day Ball next week. Speaking of, I need to give the old company a warning about that. Don’t want them caught unawares by mischievous tweens robbing them blind.”

The first time Lóf had met the Bagginses was when he was visiting the Shire for work ten years ago. Tweens had robbed him of everything—even his clothes—and it was Frodo who found him and ran to get Bilbo, telling him about the naked Dwarf in the corn field. It was particularly cold that night and Lóf was shivering trying to keep warm.

Everything was returned to him the next day and the custom explained:

Every year, they’d dress up in costumes, play games, feast, and dance, but if anyone was caught without a costume and found by tweens, they’d be robbed of all they had and left to streak till morning. Bilbo had pointed out that, technically, non-Hobbits were usually exempted.

Apparently, the tweens disagreed.

“Frodo must be looking forward to that,” Lóf muttered.

Bilbo snorted. “You’ve _no_ idea,” he said. “He’s yet to catch someone costume-less unawares and is has actually begged me not to tell Kíli so that he could get his hands on him. Granted, I think Kíli would deserve it. He’s been a bit of a nuisance in Frodo’s eyes. Maybe being forced to run around naked would make him behave a little better while here.”

“Or make him never want to come back to the Shire.”

“You did,” Bilbo said.

“But not in ten years. This is the first time I’ve been back at all with the purpose of actually _visiting_. And when I travel through the Shire, I try to avoid being here at the end of October.”

“I know,” Bilbo said, smiling. “That’s why you always come by in November if you must. Honestly, I’m surprised you _did_ come around this time given the trauma.”

“It’s not funny, Bilbo!”

“It actually is. At least to me,” Bilbo said, his smile widening.

Lóf harrumphed and raised his cup to his lips. “Wicked Hobbit.”

“Gullible Dwarf.”

Lóf glared at him from behind the cup. When he set it down, he was ready to argue against his gullibility but the door opened and closed, and Frodo’s voice echoed in the hall.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Bilbo called.

“Okay,” Frodo said, poking his head in. “I’ll be back down once I’m in something dry. It’s getting worse by the minute. Hi, Lóf.”

“Hello to you, too,” Lóf said. Frodo raced up the stairs leaving more wet foot prints. Bilbo sighed and muttered about wet floors and hazards and common sense. Frodo returned minutes later, dressed in something dry and warm. The tips of his ears and his cheeks were pink.

“Cold?” Bilbo asked.

“Very,” Frodo said, hunching into himself and shaking. “Screw it.”

“Language,” Bilbo said.

Frodo jumped up and sat in front of the fire. “I’m sitting here tonight.”

“No, you’re not,” Bilbo snapped.

“But Dad!” Frodo whined. Bilbo hefted him up and put him back in his seat. Lóf tried not to laugh.

“I have to be able to maneuver around here and you’d just be making another obstacle I don’t need.”

“Fine, I’ll be normal even though _normal_ is overrated.”

“I know,” Bilbo said, ruffling Frodo’s curls. “Overrated but necessary.”

“If it’s overrated, it shouldn’t be necessary.”

“Then why do women wear corsets?” Lóf asked. “Seems overrated to me, but also far from necessary.”

“Corsets are torture devices,” Bilbo agreed. “And they are unnecessary. My mother refused to wear one, arguing that women shouldn’t put themselves through such tortures needlessly. As a result, she never had a problem with fainting or hysterics. Of course, others thought she was indecent and improper. Still unsure what convinced my Dad to marry her in that case…”

“Why bother thinking on it? He did and you’re here and you’re awesome,” Frodo said.

Bilbo grinned. “Thank you, Lad.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Frodo mumbled, pulling his knees up and rubbing his toes. He turned to Lóf and engaged him in a conversation in Khuzdul, allowing Bilbo to get back to cooking and to think on Lóf’s words.

Cutting his hair, huh?

Bilbo learned of that law back on the quest. His hair had grown maddeningly long and was getting in his eyes a little more than he wanted it to so he figured he’d cut it first chance he got which was at Laketown. The Dwarves caught him trying to cut it and they had the worst panic ever.

Dwalin had wrestled the scissors from his hand and Fíli and Kíli were weeping. Even Ori, who had the shortest hair among them, seemed rather distraught. He got them to tell them what was going on. He wanted to laugh when he learned that growing one’s hair out was expected and to cut it meant dishonor and since Bilbo had saved their lives a number of times, he was expected to put braids in his hair.

He had explained that Hobbits are different and that there was no stigma against cutting one’s hair—well, shaving their feet was the closest equivalent and Bilbo had never a reason to go near his feet with a pair of sheers. Nor would he want to.

Thorin offered to braid it, not only successfully bringing the pesky curls out of Bilbo’s eyes, but also naming which braid was for what:

One for saving Thorin’s life outside the Goblin caves, another two for his deeds in Mirkwood, and a fourth as a braid of intent…

Bilbo’s hand instinctively went to the left side of his head. The braids were gone now—he cut them off while in Beorn’s house right before he realized he was pregnant with Frodo as a testament that he was going to let go of the heartbreak he felt. Getting rid of the braids was the best way to start.

The second step came after he learned he was pregnant and kept telling himself, despite how scared he had been at the time, that his baby was his and no one else’s.

His. Not Thorin’s.

His. Not some Dwarf who had broken his heart. Not any Dwarf, for that matter.

At the time, Bilbo had no intention of letting a Dwarf back into his life. He was better now, but at the time, he was quite bitter and perhaps if the others thought he was still bitter, well…

They’d not seen him bitter yet.

Still, it never crossed his mind that Thorin might cut his hair if he was sincere enough. Bilbo thought it laughable. The proud, heroic Thorin Oakenshield cut his hair? Display his dishonor?

He couldn’t see it.

But it did make him wonder, would he be able to forgive him—really forgive him—if Thorin cut his hair? Shaved his beard off and rid himself of his braids? Bilbo wasn’t sure he’d want Thorin to display his shame. He knew what happened between them was bad, in the past or not, but to see Thorin without his braids, without his pride?

He’d not done it yet. And to do so would mean banishment from the seven kingdoms.

He didn’t want that. He would not demand that of Thorin. He knew he couldn’t stop Thorin from doing that if he wanted to, but if he did…

Would he forgive him then?

 _I think I would_ , Bilbo thought, taking the casserole out of the oven. _Far sooner than I think, except I doubt Thorin ever would go that far. And frankly, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy._

“All right, dinner is served!” he announced, setting the dish down. Frodo jumped up to set the table. He sat across from Frodo as he pattered around getting dishes he was supposed to get before hand.

Well, no one ever said raising a fauntling alone wasn’t hard. Over all, Bilbo was quite proud of who Frodo had become, certain qualities aside.

And if he had checked on his son after Frodo had gone to bed, no one could know or would even judge him from kissing his head, whispering “I’m proud of you” or “I love you, my boy” before heading to bed himself.

It was the truth, after all.


	10. Chapter 10

Frodo pinned the emerald to his cloak before donning a mask made of dried leaves. He straightened the green waistcoat before heading downstairs, hood pulled over his head.

“Dad? Lóf?”

“We’re almost ready,” Bilbo called from the kitchen.

Frodo entered to find Lóf putting on a mask and Bilbo had a couple pies cooling on the counter. Frodo approached them and made to grab the apple pie.

Bilbo grabbed his cloak and pulled him back.

“Don’t even _think_ about it,” he said with a measure of warning and fondness. “The blackberry pie will be ready in a moment if you can wait.”

“It’ll need to cool.”

“I know. We still have an hour till the party.”

Frodo pouted and bounced on the balls of his feet. He was eager to go and find an unsuspecting costume-less person to attack. He overheard Fili warning Kili anyway and they had brought Frodo with them to find a decent mask for the both of them.

He was not amused, though Kili kept making faces at him. Both did, now that he thought about it.

Frodo sighed. _One of these days…_

“I could bring what we have ready done to the party tree,” he offered.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes. “You mean steal the pies I’ve slaved over.”

“I wouldn’t say slaving,” Frodo mumbled, clasping his hands behind his back. “You know the recipes by heart, Dad.”

“You haven’t denied it.”

“But I’ve not _confirmed_ it either.”

Lóf snorted. “He’s got a point.”

“No. We’re going together, Frodo Baggins. I know you’re excited, lad, but if you just bounce about and stare at the clock, the hour will fell like a year. So how about you take care of the caramel apples.”

Bilbo pointed at the stove top where a pot was heated with caramel in it. Red and green apples were stacked on top of them.

Frodo took off his mask and cloak. “Fine, I’ll dip fruit in candy sauce. I still say we should leave now before the little kids get out.”

“You just want to jump out at them and the last time you did that, Hamson and Halfred broke down in tears and their parents were not amused _not only_ because you scared them, but you also took their candy.”

“You stole candy from children?” Lóf asked, unimpressed.

“It was ripe for the taking.”

“And you forget that you weren’t allowed to enjoy the festival last year because of it,” Bilbo snapped. “Get to the apples now.”

Frodo slumped his shoulders and went to the stove, tying string to the apple stems and then dipping the apples, one by one, into the hot caramel, humming a song under his breath.

Bilbo shook his head. He knew Frodo was more conscientious than he acted sometimes. He certainly didn’t view his stunt last year as a win of any kind, no matter how he may act now.

The bell rang just as Bilbo took the kettle off the fire. He excused himself, dusting flour off his hands and apron. Two dwarves stood out front.

The first wore a generic black mask with a matching black cape. At first, Bilbo didn’t recognize him since his hair was styled slightly differently, but he noticed, after a moment, that it was Ori.

The One behind him, however, had covered the lower half of his face with a black scarf and had shaded his eyes with some sort of eye dust. He wore Dwalin’s trademark knuckle dusters, though.

“Dwalin, Ori, I wasn’t expecting you for a little while longer.”

“Good afternoon, Bilbo,” Ori said, straightening the plain black mask. Dwalin crossed his arms and glared. “I’m afraid if we stayed with the others any longer, Dori was going to take over my hair again, so we left.”

“Ah. I see. It definitely looks different.”

“Warrior’s braids,” Dwalin said, lowering his own hood and the scarf. “Close to the head, tightly bound, and keeps hair out of your eyes. Very efficient.”

“So you’re a warrior?”

“Just for the night,” Ori said. “Though I can see some uses for it in my own profession. Dwalin’s a Harad assassin.”

Bilbo grinned at Dwalin, who rolled his eyes and entered the kitchen. Bilbo and Ori followed. He wasn’t sure he could trust Dwalin to behave around Lóf.

Sure enough, he was glaring at him.

Bilbo was about to get him to behave when Ori reached up and smacked the back of Dwalin’s head.

“Behave yourself,” he admonished.

Dwalin rolled his eyes. “Yes dear.”

Ori quickly engaged Lóf in Khuzdul and Dwalin sat down.

“Oi, Lad,” he called to Frodo.

Frodo turned to him before Dwalin switched to Khuzdul. Frodo grinned and replied, pointing at the pot and the apples already hanging on the elevated rack as the caramel hardened.

Bilbo sighed. There was too much Khuzdul. In this house as it was. It was a bit annoying, but he checked on the pie and put the finished pastries in a container to be taken to the party in an hour before handing out cinnamon tea.

“How many other will be coming to help?”

“Um…I think Bofur will be around soon. Everyone agreed Bombur wasn’t allowed to since he’d likely eat it all before we get it there.”

“Wise decision,” Bilbo said, nodding. “I love Bombur, but his appetite is far too voracious even for me to keep up with. Trust me there is nothing more embarrassing for a respectable Hobbit.”

“Hm…by the way,” Ori said. “Who’s Mad Baggins? Is he a relative?”

Bilbo’s grin dropped and Frodo spun on him, glaring. He took a breath.

“Ori, ‘Mad Baggins” is what everyone who doesn’t know Dad calls him. They call him that because he went on an adventure and they treat what happened like some…scary story! A lot of people don’t like their faunts to be around him _because_ of it.”

“So it’s an insult?”

“I’m afraid so,” Bilbo sighed. “I know you didn’t know, Ori. So it’s all right. I’ll get used to it eventually.”

“But you’re not _mad_ ,” Frodo said.

“What matters is that you know that, Lad,” Bilbo said, giving him a small smile. “The others only care because they’ve nothing better to do and we all know it. The quest had some high points and low points for me, but it certainly made me better than I used to be. And it gave me you. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“But you won’t forgive Thorin,” Dwalin said.

“Not you, too!”

“I’m not suggesting you get back with him. What he did is actually worthy of banishment, but Erebor needed a king and Fili is too young and Dis was too far away at the time. Thorin was our only hope of restoring Erebor at the time.”

“So if he were anyone else, you’d cut his hair?” Frodo asked, curious.”

“Unless I never knew him, I don’t think I’d be able to,” Dwalin admitted. He turned to Bilbo. “He’s no right to you or the lad, we can agree on that. And we agree you’ve been quite lenient letting him close to your boy. But here’s a thing about gold-madness: it fucks with your mind. I know you never experienced it, but the rest of us…” he glanced at Ori and took his hand. “You forget everything you care for, everyone you love becomes inconsequential.”

“What happened to you and him was terrible,” Ori said. “And gold-madness or not he doesn’t deserve you. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still love you because he does. To be honest, you and Thorin need to talk about what was going on back then because there was more politics behind it than you think.”

“Right, the King’s Jewel. Whoever has it can call on the other kingdoms and they will have no choice _but_ to answer. Wasn’t the quest partly to get the stone so that Thorin may call on aid to get rid of the Dragon—oh, wait, we got rid of the Dragon on our own with the aid of  the Men. I will not defend Thranduil being there. I thought on it many times and I can agree that he had no right to be there. But the Men? They had lost their homes to dragon fire. The gold was their only hope at surviving the winter.”

“He was sick,” Ori said. “We all were.”

“He was going to get us all killed!” Bilbo shouted.

Frodo jumped and Lóf cleared his throat.

“Bilbo, you may want to tone it down,” he suggested.

Bilbo glared at him and took a breath.

“You’re right,” he said. “I do need to talk to him about what happened and I do need to calm down. But I cannot excuse what he did to me. Sick or not, he knew better. I know he knew better and I’m not going to let him hide behind gold-madness.” Bilbo swallowed. “It is not a good enough explanation. And that is why I haven’t been able to…”

Frodo abandoned the apples and embraced Bilbo. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too,” Bilbo whispered, kissing the top of Frodo’s head. He patted his back and sent him back to work. “Now are we going to keep discussing this or can we move on? I will talk to Thorin about it in my own time and not a moment sooner.”

“Make sure it’s soon,” Ori said. “I don’t mean to pressure you, but Thorin…well, you know him.”

“A bit of an idiot when it comes to it. Foot-in-mouth disease,” Dwalin said.

“Not that you’re any better,” Ori said, nudging Dwalin with his elbow. He looked at Bilbo again as Bilbo took the blackberry pie out of the oven. “Thorin does love you, Bilbo, even if it never seemed like it. You know that we only love once and Thorin…he wouldn’t be able to let go of how he feels for you if he wanted to.”

Bilbo set the pie down and the smell of blackberries, tart and sweet, wafted through the air. “You don’t need to be in love to have sex with someone—”

“Dad!” Frodo cried, horror etched on his face. “Impressionable children over here!”

Bilbo threw his head back and laughed. “You are sadly mistaken if you think I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into with Mac, my dear Frodo! You’ve been with him for nearly _how long_ now?”

“I still don’t want to hear about you doing the deed! Argh! I need a scrub brush for my brain!”

Bilbo wiped his eyes as Frodo ran from the kitchen, screaming about being scarred for life.


	11. Chapter 11

Bilbo arranged the pies by flavor with the others.

Lobelia elbowed him. “This year, the best pie award is mine.”

Bilbo smirked. “In what universe?” She glared at him. “I mean, I’d offer to help you, Lobelia, but…you see, it’s my mother’s recipe. I can’t betray my mother like that.”

“Oh, I see. Family legacy and all that? I get it. I’m still going to win this year.”

“Dream on, Bee. Dream on.”

Lobelia sent him a rude gesture before marching off. Bilbo chuckled and gave the table another glance before looking for Frodo. He was with Lóf and Mac, fixing one of the walls of the Haunted Maze. There were usually two: one for children and one for an older audience.

“Seems merry.”

Bilbo looked behind him. Thorin lifted the mask of black feathers he had covered his face with and Bilbo hummed. “I can assure you,” he said, readjusting his own mask—plain white with no decoration, he never cared for decorating his masks in the last few years, especially since Frodo, as a babe, took to ripping his feathers and leaves off the costumes—over his face. “The fun is only just beginning.”

“Is it true there’s a dance?”

“There is.”

“Perhaps you’d save me the first song?”

Bilbo frowned, “If this is an attempt to try and court me—”

“I promise it is not.”

He sighed. “All right. I’ll save the first dance for you. But _only_ one. I don’t want anyone getting any ideas.”

“There are… _ideas_ where dancing is concerned?”

“The maximum someone will dance with the same person is two songs, but if you intend to court someone, you dance with them more than twice. Three is usually enough to get the message across to others who may be interested. Any more than that and you’re staking a claim on someone.”

“Interesting custom,” Thorin said. “Dwarves are more…subtle.”

“I seem to remember you making it quite clear to anyone who so much as _looked_ at me that I was claimed,” Bilbo retorted, crossing his arms and moving away from the pies. Thorin followed.

“I get jealous easily. You know that.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “You tried to break Bofur’s arm once because he hugged me.”

Thorin cut him off. “That was in Erebor after the Dragon.”

“It is no excuse for hurting someone I consider— _considered_ a friend!”

“You’re right. At that…time I overstepped my bounds and it really is no excuse for hurting another, regardless why. Bilbo, I…” he cut himself off, taking a shaky breath. “Thank you for inviting us to the festival tonight. Is there anything I can do to help in the preparations for tonight?”

Bilbo looked about. “The haunted maze could use an extra hand in getting those walls to stay up if you don’t mind helping out there, but for the most part, we’ve all the hands we need.” Thorin reached for him, then pulled away as Bilbo tensed, heading to Frodo’s side. Bilbo watched him go and inhaled.

_Pull yourself together. Even if you are still in love with him, you can’t just jump back in his arms just because he wants you to. You’ve a better head on your shoulders than that and you need to keep Frodo’s best interest in mind._

#

The dancing began at dusk as the sun set over the river. Bilbo ended up leading Thorin through the dance as the musicians played, trying to minimize the Dwarf King’s stumbling.

“So,” Bilbo began, “how’s the venture with Frodo? Is he cutting you any slack?”

“I’m afraid not,” Thorin admitted. “Any tips.”

“Well, you know yourself best. Would anything sway you to like someone, be it jewels or food?”

Thorin sighed, pulling Bilbo a little closer, snaking his hand around Bilbo’s waist to rest against the small of his back. “No,” he said.

“Yes, your chances are woeful in regards to him. He’s a good lad, though.”

“You aren’t going to interfere, are you?”

“It wouldn’t work,” Bilbo said, “There is a lot Frodo will obey if I tell him to, but he _is_ a tween and he’s angry at you as much as I am.”

“Is he usually so rebellious?” Thorin asked, letting Bilbo pull away from him though his hand never left Bilbo’s waist.

“Sometimes,” Bilbo admitted. “There are worse tweens out there. Thankfully, Frodo doesn’t consider them his friends.”

“That is a relief. But what about when he was younger?” Thorin pulled him close again, fingers twitching against the small of Bilbo’s back through his skin. “Was he troublesome then?”

Bilbo hummed. “Depends on what you mean by troublesome,” he said. “He only made noise when he really wanted something, attention, food, a nappy change…but overall, he was very quiet.”

Thorin’s nose twitched. “I would have liked to have been there if only to help you.”

“There’s nothing that can be done about that.”

“That doesn’t stop me from wishing I could’ve made a different decision,” Thorin said. “I was a coward, Bilbo, and I should’ve gone after you.”

Bilbo halted. “Thorin, you are _not_ a coward. You’re anything _but_ a coward.”

“Being brave on the battlefield is not the same. Anyone can be brave on the battlefield. But being brave in the face of someone whom you love and whom you’ve wronged…bravery is harder to muster. I should have done something to fix this sooner.”

“You were busy.”

“But you don’t love me anymore,” Thorin said. “And I don’t know how to accept that. You will always have my heart and I was not careful enough with yours. I tried to protect you and I pushed you away. I can’t resist you and I…I love you, Bilbo. I always have loved you and I always will.”

Bilbo swallowed and pulled away. “Sadly, your words tend to be lost when faced with a memory of being held over a cliff with a hundred foot drop below you. How am I to believe anything you say when I am plagued by the fact that you chose a _rock_ over common sense? Forget what it made me think about your so called regard for _me_.”

“Bilbo, I—”

He held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t tell me you still love me because I cannot believe you, Thorin. Not after everything we went through. I’d say it’d be easier to pretend that nothing happened, but I do not regret having Frodo, so we can’t pretend, but at the very least, at least let me pretend we’ve both moved past what transpired between us because I can’t stand it. And I have a lot of difficulty believing that you ever really loved me.”

Bilbo walked around him, asking to dance with another, hiding the hurt he felt behind his smile.

#

Thorin watched Bilbo walk away and invite another Hobbit to dance with him, a fake smile pasted on his face, leading the woman in the second dance.

He disappeared into the crowd—which would be easier to do if he wasn’t so tall by comparison to most of the attendees—and found a table in the back to sit at. He removed his mask and pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh.

He knew he hadn’t a right to Bilbo anymore. Perhaps he never did. Not after…

Still, he needed Bilbo to know he loved him and he needed him to believe him. He’d not lie about this!

 _It’s probably impossible_ , he thought, massaging his forehead.

Still, he was determined to try.

Bilbo had been warm as they danced. He could nearly smell the clean grass scent that seemed so natural for Bilbo, so nearly pulled him close enough to breathe it in. He managed to resist it, but dancing with Bilbo had been a dangerous move.

Someone joined his table on the other end. He recognized the black curls as Frodo’s mop of unruly hair. The other Hobbit mumbled about drinks and pressed a kiss quickly to Frodo’s mouth and left. Frodo stretched.

“I suppose that’s the famous Mac I keep hearing about?” Thorin asked. Frodo looked at him, lowering his arms.

“Yes. Why?”

“Nothing. He seems like a nice lad.” Frodo shrugged, crossing his arms and legs. “How are your lessons with Fili?”

“Good.”

“Just good?” Thorin asked. “You’re quite skilled with a blade. Do you enjoy it?”

Frodo glanced at him. “A bit,” he admitted. “It’d be easier if Dad let me use Sting rather than borrow Fili’s weapons. I mean, they’re great. Beautiful swords, they are. But they’re too heavy for me to use properly and a bit too long.”

Thorin stood, pulling Orcrist out. “It’s different for every swordsman,” he said. “Blades cannot be generic. A sword that is too heavy can be fixed with the bearer training harder to build enough muscle to wield it. But its length is also a factor. A longer blade can throw off the bearer terribly and _that_ is harder to use. For instance, this is Orcrist—”

“The Goblin Cleaver,” Frodo said, awed, fingers ghosting over the blade reverently. “I’ve only ever heard of it. Dad spoke of it in his stories. It’s bigger than I thought. I mean…he said you wielded it wonderfully.”

“Go on,” Thorin said, “Pick it up.”

Frodo did so, he lifted it easily enough, but it was awkward in his hand and he frowned. “It’s too big for me.”

“Aye,” Thorin agreed. “But it’s light. Gondolin Blades like Orcrist and Sting were forged to be light, allowing the bearer more speed than they’d normally have. I wouldn’t know about the newer Elven swords, but Orcrist has served me well since I found it, just as Sting had served your dad. True, it’s just barely too long for me though I have the advantage of being close in height to Men, but I managed with it and soon enough she became my favorite weapon.” Frodo handed Orcrist back to him. “Perhaps I could show you how to make a blade that would better suit your size,” he offered.

“I don’t know,” Frodo said. “And even if I did accept, it wouldn’t change anything. I’m still mad at you for what you did to Dad.”

“It might,” Thorin said. “But it’s up to you.” He sheathed Orcrist and sat down again.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?”

“For many reasons,” Thorin said. “Beginning with that I was needed in Erebor until recently. And also because I was scared.”

“Of what?” Frodo asked.

Thorin swallowed, staring at his hands. _This,_ he thought. _That I would find him having moved on, not in love with me anymore or that he would despise me._ “What I’d find if I went after him. It was a fear I had as time went on. When I came, Frodo, I expected him to have married another or that he’d have died and I wouldn’t be able to tell him one more time that I love him—you know I do, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Frodo said. “I know what a Dwarf’s One means. I also know that usually you don’t force your feelings on them or hurt them the way you hurt my dad and I don’t think that the gold-madness is a good enough excuse for it.”

“It’s not,” Thorin admitted. “I know that. Do you at least think I have a chance?”

“Through blood, sweat, and tears, maybe a little bit,” Frodo admitted. Mac made his way over to them carrying a couple of cups and looking a little sheepish. “Mostly blood, or, well, tears. The situation’s not that gory.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Night, Dad,” Frodo called before closing his door. Bilbo glanced at Lóf, who shrugged.

“Care for a drink?” Bilbo asked.

“Yes, thanks,” Lóf said, smirking. He thought a Hobbit’s penchant for manners was funny and often teased them gently for it. Bilbo ignored the jibe and picked up a bottle of white wine to share. “Did you at least enjoy yourself? You seemed upset back in the tent?”

Bilbo handed him the bottle as he retrieved glasses. “Thorin caught me unawares. Nothing more.”

“It upset you.”

“Of course it upset me. I didn’t expect him to say what he did nor do I really know what to think of it let alone whether to believe it.” They entered the parlor and Lóf opened the bottle.

“Personally, I’d give anything to have another day with my One,” Lóf said, filling the glasses. “I don’t think he’d lie to you, Bilbo, so I think it’s safe to say he’s not pulling your leg.”

“Perhaps—and it’s different for you, Lóf. You didn’t kill your one nor tried to,” Bilbo said. “It was an unfortunate accident.” Lóf shrugged noncommittally, staring at the liquid. Bilbo sighed. “Perhaps we ought _not_ to talk about our love lives, shall we? We will end up too terribly drunk and horrible things will happen which my son can and likely _will_ use against me.”

Lóf snorted and took a drink. “Well, then how about we discuss the party. Overall, it wasn’t’ as bad as last time.”

“Ah, but _this time_ , you were prepared,” Bilbo said. “See. We aren’t so _cruel_ as you think.”

“Or you only intend to make everyone else _think_ you’re not as cruel as we think,” Lóf countered with a wink. “After all, the way you rubbed that ribbon in Mrs. Sackville-Baggins’ face seemed rather mean if I may say so.”

“You may, but you’re wrong. We’re always in each other’s faces like that,” Bilbo said. “She’s like the sister I never wanted, but had anyway, so…” he shrugged. “Besides, she’s a good aunt to Frodo. Most days, anyway. Other days I can never be sure what she’s up to and _don’t_ get me started on the many, many, _many_ times she’s dropped by unannounced.”

“Or how many times she actually deigns to listen to you,” Lóf said. Bilbo groaned, and lowered his head. “Perhaps you fell in love with the wrong person.”

“No! No, no, no!!!” Bilbo shook his head. “And you say _we’re_ cruel? Lobelia and I would tear each other apart before then!”

“She still wants your house.”

“Don’t I know it?” Bilbo sighed.

Lóf laughed and finished his glass. “For the record, as far as Thorin is concerned, not as much time has passed. Dwarves age differently. For him, it’s closer to about _eight_ years in a Hobbit’s time. Still, I don’t know if I’d be able to come back to my One as he has.”

“It certainly is a brave move,” Bilbo agreed, “But not enough to make me trust him again. Or forgive him.”

“I know,” Lóf said. “Which is why I wouldn’t be able to do it. And perhaps he shouldn’t have. But he has and I don’t think he’s going to leave any time soon. At least consider forgiving him, even if you can’t trust him again.” He stood. “Good night, Bilbo.”

“Good night.”

Lóf walked down the hall and Bilbo leaned back in his chair, pulling his legs up to his chin. He knew Dwarves aged differently. He’d been around them long enough to know that and the length of time it took to carry Frodo to term, well…

To add, it was difficult for Frodo to easily befriend his Dwarven age mates because of how slowly they aged by comparison.

As for what had happened between them, perhaps Thorin _did_ regret what he had done, even if regret was not enough to excuse what happened between them. Thorin had to know that he was asking a lot of Bilbo. It was hard, seeing him again. And equally hard to accept that he still loved Thorin after all this time. He wasn’t going to just… _jump_ back in Thorin’s arms, no matter how much he wanted to.

_I love you, Bilbo. I always have loved you and I always will…_

He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. Sometimes, he still saw the anger in Thorin’s eyes, the way he behaved when the madness took over him. All that _over a bloody rock_!! How could he trust him again?

 _Why did it mean so much more than the love I thought you had for me?_ He thought. _Why couldn’t you just listen to me?_

Bilbo opened his eyes. He looked at the fire and watched the embers fly before finishing his drink and deciding to head to bed himself. It wouldn’t do him much good dwelling on the past. It never did before and to do so now wouldn’t change the facts.

Thorin had made his choice and had kept it for years, as far as Bilbo was concerned. He took a deep breath as he climbed into bed.

_I always have loved you and I always will…_

He bit his lip. _No, you don’t. How can I believe you ever did?_

#

Sticking Lóf in a room of thirteen other Dwarves who didn’t trust him nor have any reason to respect him, granted, was a bad idea. A _very bad_ idea.

Bilbo glanced in every so often to see if they’d gotten to killing him yet, and was always happy to see otherwise, even if several were glaring at him—Kili looked especially livid with Lóf’s presence. Whenever his fingers curled around a weapon, Bilbo took to throwing a walnut at his head. It worked better when Fili sat beside him and flicked his ear to make sure he behaved himself.

It gave Bilbo a little more ease so that he could cook dinner for seventeen and not have to worry about someone killing Lóf. On heading to check on them once he put the main dish in the oven, he nearly collided with Thorin.

“He is trying to tell others he has a One.”

“ _Had_ ,” Bilbo said. “And yes, he did. She died in childbirth with the baby. Don’t tell him I told you that, though. He probably won’t be pleased with you knowing.”

“So he’s not—”

“No. Of course not. Once and only once sort of thing. He’s a good friend and is good help with Frodo some days, but I see him like I would Bofur or any of the company. A brother or a cousin at most.” Thorin seemed to relax more after that. “He’s better company than the whole lot of you are, though. He at least knows to give me a warning before he comes by.”

“I’ll tell them to be civil,” Thorin said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Bilbo ignored it. He’s just happy to not have any competition, as far as Bilbo could tell. “And as an added incentive, I’ll tell them we’ll leave after dinner.”

“Will that work on Kili?”

“Most definitely.”

“Then go ahead. Mac and Frodo should be here sooner or later _with_ desert from the bakery. Normally, I’d _bake_ it, but I’m afraid there’s only so much my oven can fit.”

“Later,” Thorin said. Bilbo rolled his eyes.

“Go threaten the lot already, will you? You’re smiling too much for my liking.”

“I thought you liked my smile.”

He did. Thorin looked quite beautiful when he was smiling and it was always nice to see him smile beyond his usual cold smirk. But it was a smile he usually reserved for those he was closest to…

Bilbo huffed. “I don’t recall.”

The smile vanished and a niggling voice in the back of his head snapped at Bilbo, telling him that he had been too cruel that time. Well, he wasn’t going to apologize, even if he did feel bad.

“I’ll go let them know,” Thorin said, leaving the kitchen. He heard some sharp words uttered in Khuzdul and a few groans. One answer sounded like Kili in an outrage, sparking an argument between him and Thorin. Then silence, followed by another groan.

Bilbo shook his head. Really, he’d think a few years would have made Kili grow up a little more. He was already past his first century, if Bilbo recalled correctly.

Perhaps he simply didn’t know how to grow up.

One day, he hoped. _One day_.

The front door opened and closed. “Dad?”

“Kitchen.” Frodo and Mac entered and set the parcels down. Both were shivering and soaked, noses and cheeks bright red. "Go take your cloaks off and warm up by the fire. Keep Lóf company. He might still need backup in there.”

They ran from the room and Bilbo sighed. “Frodo, the floor.”

“Fine,” Frodo said, rushing back in to grab the mop.

“Thank you.”

Frodo didn’t respond, only took to mopping the floor as Bilbo went to the dining room, laying out the large spread. It’d be tight, but he could manage. Frodo took the mop back and went to the parlor. Bilbo spotted him sitting beside Mac, holding hands as they were pulled into a conversation with Bofur. Whatever he said made them blush and not from cold.

Well, that was to be expected.

“Need any help in here?” Thorin asked.

“And what exactly is it you want now?” Bilbo asked, arching a brow at him.

“Why would I…I was wondering when you and Frodo would be heading to the Blue Mountains. I promise we won’t go with you, but there are people there that many of the company consider friends and family. Why not let them go back and visit for a bit?”

“Fair enough,” Bilbo said. “We’ll be leaving a week from tomorrow.”

Thorin hummed. “Now _is_ there anything you need help with.”

“You aren’t going to interrogate Mac?”

“Fili and Kili are doing that right now. Why would they need me?”

Bilbo chuckled, pretending Thorin wasn’t staring at him. “Thank you, but I don’t need any help. The roast will be ready in a few more minutes and—”

“You’re avoiding us again,” Thorin pointed out. Bilbo glared at him but he never managed to glare at the same level as Thorin could. “I know you don’t believe me, but I will do what it takes to make sure you know my love for you is genuine.”

Bilbo sighed, massaging his forehead. “A rock, Thorin.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Bilbo snapped. “Do you really think that a _rock_ was worth more than our lives? Or that saying you still love me, true or not, is going to make everything all right? You don’t even comprehend what your actions wrought do you?”

Thorin stepped forward, reaching for Bilbo.

“Don’t touch me!” Bilbo shouted. Thorin pulled back. “You broke my heart. You chose a rock over our lives and you were prepared to kill me for it. I don’t even know if it’d be different if we had known I was pregnant with Frodo, but I have the feeling it wouldn’t have changed anything. I want to hate you. I want to say I don’t love you anymore. I certainly don’t trust you. I can’t. That I still love you horrifies me sometimes because I…”

He shook his head and stared at his feet.

“Bilbo,” Thorin whispered. “ _Men lananubukhs menu, azyunguh. Men kurdu_ _charachâl. Menu tessu ai-men. Menu, Frodo…_ ”

Bilbo took a breath and stared at his feet. “You forgot I don’t speak Khuzdul again. Just leave me alone. I might still love you, too, Thorin, but I’m _not_ going to be made a fool of again. So please, just stop.” Thorin sighed and nodded, closing his eyes.

“I’ll let them know dinner’s almost ready.” He left and Bilbo wiped his eyes before pulling himself back to preparing the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was going to have Lóf be in love with Bilbo, then it was going to be that Frodo was his One and they found each other too soon so he wasn’t going to act until Frodo was of age (and yes, Bilbo would know. He wasn’t going to let Lóf be alone with Frodo and I wasn't going to expand it beyond that). But neither scenario worked for me. I figured it’d be less triggering or traumatic if he already had a One that was never mentioned till now…
> 
> ~Khuzdul~
> 
> Men lananubukhs menu, azyunguh. Men kurdu charachâl. Menu tessu ai-men. Menu, Frodo=I love you, my love. My heart has been in pain. You are everything to me. You, Frodo…


	13. Chapter 13

_I want to hate you. I want to say I don’t love you anymore…_

_That I still love you horrifies me…_

The hammer fell too hard and the trowel he’d been working on broke.

Thorin cursed and set the hammer down before he leaned on the anvil and sighed. On the one, he could see hope-bleak though it was, like a burning candle trying to fight the wind.

There had to be something he could do to prove himself. His hand went to his hair, but he banished the thought quickly, tucking it away as a last resort.

“Uncle?”

He looked at Fili. “Yes?”

“Those of us who are going are ready to go as soon as you are.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

“Are you all right?” he asked. Thorin glanced at him.

“I’m fine,” he lied. He stepped away from the anvil. “Who is staying behind?”

“The brothers Ri,” he said. “And Gloin said he’d keep the forge going through winter.”

“I thought Dwalin would stay behind with Ori.”

Fili snickered. “I don’t think they’d get a moment’s peace if he stayed. Dori would take care of that. Not that he doesn’t like Dwalin, but the age difference between him and Ori worries him. To add, he’s a warrior and a guard…”

“Ah.”

“Besides, there’s too many people up there that would likely want Nori dead.”

Thorin hummed.

“I, uh, overheard you and Bilbo before dinner the other day,” he said.

Thorin looked at him. Fili met his glance.

“Perhaps you’d do better making him something.”

“Without making him think I’m trying to court him? I’m not sure that will work.”

“So you’re going to write it off and not try?” he asked. “Or are you hoping to get close to him via Frodo. One connection does not a relationship make. Maybe I should fake hurting myself and you could take over his sword fighting lessons for a bit…”

“Your suggestions far outweigh those of your brother’s,” Thorin said dryly.

Fili chuckled. “Yes, well, Kili’s…as bad as Amad, I suppose.” Thorin winced. That was true. Too true.

Dis would only _not_ sit on her nephew.

But the attempt to intimidate Bilbo and Frodo into accepting Thorin? Yes, he could see her do that. He doubted she’d be successful. If anything, she’d probably find a verbal sparring partner in Bilbo.

Thorin shuddered.

“Uncle?”

“Fili, _never_ introduce your mother to Bilbo,” Thorin said. “Ever.”

“Yeah, I can see how that’s a bad idea. For you, anyway. Amad would love him.”

“That’s what scares me.”

Fili approached the house and opened the door, letting his uncle enter before him, mumbling something about _age before beauty_. Thorin cuffed him over the head for that.

Ori was wrapping a scarf around Dwalin’s neck, engaged in a quiet conversation with him. The others were fixing their packs, so they'd stay on tighter

Balin clapped his shoulder.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” Thorin said, approaching his room where he had left his bag already packed, eager to leave the Shire for the time being. He tied his cloak around his shoulders and swung the bag onto his back before entering the living room again.

“Alright. I’m ready,” he said, leading them out the door. “Gloin, Dori, enjoy the break. It’ll be quiet.”

“That I doubt,” Dori said, glancing at Nori and Gloin. Nori grinned and Gloin shrugged. Thorin sighed.

“I trust you’ll keep order, Dori,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They filed out the house and headed for the mountains in the West.

While passing Bag End, Thorin almost called them to a halt, wondering if he should go inside, bid them goodbye until the saw each other next. He decided against it and continued on.

#

“Have you spare trousers?”

“Yes.”

“Tunics and shirts?”

“Yes.”

“Extra braces?”

“Yes.”

“Underwear?”

“ _Dad!_ ” Frodo snapped, cheeks tinging. “Who forgets their underwear?”

“Just want to be sure,” Bilbo said. “Handkerchief? Which one _can_ forget to pack.”

“Yes, I got everything.”

“Cloak?”

Frodo nodded. “And a winter coat, before you ask. However, my winter boots need an adjustment again.” Bilbo sighed.

Winter boots.

Hobbits only wore shoes on certain situations and they _always_ needed to be specially made.

Children always needed new ones. And they _usually_ hated them as much as adults did. It was necessary, though. Winter in the mountain usually was much harsher than in the Shire.

“Should I go to the tailor before we leave?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “Get your boots and run down there after breakfast.”

Frodo rushed up the stairs too his room and Bilbo reviewed the packing list he made. He should check in on the Company, make sure they know they’ll be leaving soon…

Frodo returned with his boots, setting them on the ground before sitting across from Bilbo and grabbing a muffin.

“Heading to Mac’s today?”

“Yes,” he said between bites. “He wanted to know when we’d leave. Can I stay—”

“We are leaving early and Buckland is in an entirely different direction from Ered Luin,” Bilbo said. “So _no_ you cannot stay the night with him. You can stay for dinner, but I want you here for supper.”

Frodo sighed, pouting. “Yes, Dad.” He finished breakfast quickly, grabbing his boots and leaving.

Bilbo massaged his forehead.

Winter in the mountain wasn’t ever bad, but with Thorin being there this year, Bilbo wasn’t sure if he’d survive it. It’s been one headache after the other since Thorin returned vowing to still love him and to want him back and a load of other things Bilbo couldn’t let himself believe.

He hoped Thorin would at least be busy enough that he’d _have_ to give Bilbo space.

 _I’m missing something_ , he thought, moving his hand over his waistcoat and into his pockets. _My ring_! Bilbo jumped up and went to his bedroom.

He opened the bedside drawer and found it still tucked away in the envelope he kept the ring in. He pulled it out and rolled the band between his fingers before tucking it in his pocket.

It had always remained his most treasured possession next to Frodo, having saved his and his son’s life many times over on the road. He usually had Frodo put it on when there was danger and so far it had protected Frodo with the ease it had protected him on the quest.

Satisfied he had everything they’d need, it was a matter of waiting for Frodo’s boots to be adjusted to fit him better.

Bilbo stood and headed to Thorin’s forge, bidding a hello to whomever he passed, making a note to get some things at the market for the journey as well.

The fires were lit so he approached.

“Hello?”

“Morning!” the dwarf within shouted.

That was _not_ Thorin. Or Dwalin.

Gloin beamed at him. “How goes it, Master Baggins?”

“Well, Gloin, where’s…”

“Ah, they already left. Three days ago. Just me and the Ris will be staying here. Ori’s probably interviewing your neighbors so to get a head start on that book he wants to write about Hobbits.”

Bilbo frowned. Ori could’ve asked him…he pushed it aside.

“And Dori and Nori?”

“Dori’s managing the house like he used to and Nori, well, who knows. You and your lad leaving soon?”

“Tomorrow before dawn. I was coming to let Thorin know, but I suppose he and the others are already a quarter way there.”

“Aye,” Gloin said.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re not going to tell me to forgive him, are you?”

Gloin snorted. “What’s there to forgive? He did something even I wouldn’t be able to get away with,” he said. “My wife would shave my beard…only right.”

“You don’t think he should—”

“That is between you and him,” Gloin crossed his arms. “But he’s trying to make it right, even if he’s no right to. He is sincere at least. As a king I must be loyal, but as my cousin, well, I understand your side of the coin, if you know what I mean.”

Bilbo did. “So you think I’m not too hard on him?”

“Easier than my Valla would be,” he said. “I’ve got to get back to work, but enjoy the journey to the mountain, Master Baggins.”

“Oh, thank you, Gloin,” he said.


	14. Chapter 14

Sleepy shopkeepers opened their doors by the time Bilbo, Frodo, and Lóf started passing through Michel Delving. It was ideal as they’d need ponies and Michel Delving was perhaps one of the only places _in_ the Shire that actually sold ponies.

Bilbo sent Frodo to get another length of rope. The one they usually used was starting to fray a bit and he didn’t want to take any chances while Lóf rented four ponies and Bilbo spoke to the baker.

“Is your boy still with Mac Brandybuck?”

“He is.”

The baker tutted and some morning buns on her counter. “They’re getting closer to a marriageable age, are they not?”

Bilbo sucked in a breath, holding his temper back. “If Frodo chooses to marry, it will be for love.”

“Begging your pardon, Master Baggins, I only meant that those two boys have been together nearly a year. Another two or three and they’ll be talk of _two male_ non-bearers getting married. It may have been for the best to nip it in the bud. My Joe’s a bearer, you know—”

“Thank you, Madam, I think I’ll just get some lemon poppy-seed muffins for the road,” he said, cutting her off. She handed him the muffins and he walked off.

Of course, it was bound to come up eventually. He knew that since learning that Frodo and Mac started courting. No one was against love, but there was a stigma against non-bearers being together. Not so much with bearers of the same-sex unless they were female.

He didn’t understand the taboo. He’d grown up seeing healthy and happy relationships broken apart because both partners wouldn’t be able to beget children. Often the result was one of the partners declaring bachelorship while the other married someone their parents approved of more.

His courtships were never based on his ability or inability to breed, but rather due to his distaste for the amount of arranged marriages that happened. His parents never forced him marry anyone and he had been happy and grateful for that. His father might’ve seemed quiet and aloof in a way that made everyone think he was quite proper and serious, but rather it was the opposite…

Bilbo sighed and called to Frodo to hurry up with the rope. Lóf was returning with the ponies and they’d need to get out of the street in order to get their steeds ready.

All four of the ponies were chestnuts. But one had a beautiful yellow mane and tail; another had a white muzzle; the third a star on its forehead; and the last had a black mane. Lóf handed the one with the black mane to Frodo, who had somehow gotten some carrots and was no letting his pony munch on one as he pet its muzzle.

“That one is Juniper,” Lóf said. Frodo grinned, letting Juniper eat another carrot while he attached his pack to the back of the pony. “This one’s for you,” he handed the palomino pony to Bilbo. “Owner said her name is Rosie.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, petting Rosie for a moment before also adding his packs to her load. “And the other two?” he asked.

“Sweet Pea and Shamrock,” he said. “I’ll be riding Sweet Pea,” which was the one with the long stripe of white on her face. “And Shamrock will be carrying our other supplies.”

Frodo climbed up Juniper with practiced ease and stretched. Bilbo winced when Frodo’s back cracked.

“Frodo…”

“Sorry,” he said, grinning sheepishly. Bilbo rolled his eyes and Lóf tried not to laugh, climbing onto Sweet Pea’s back once he and Bilbo had Shamrock ready for departure.

“Just try not to do it in public. Or at least around me, lad.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Good, we’re off. Catch.” He tossed a couple muffins at them. Frodo’s jumped out of his hands a bit, but he managed to catch it while Lóf nearly squished his completely in his hand.

“Can we run?”

“Once we’re out of the city and on the main road, you can _trot_ ,” Bilbo said. “But no running till we’re around the Far Downs.”

“No map?” Lóf asked as they left Michel Delving’s limits, handing passport papers to the gatekeeper.

“What for?" Bilbo asked. "We’ve you and I’ve practically got the route memorized now,”

They bade them a safe journey and opened the gates. Frodo leaned forward and kicked Juniper’s flanks. Juniper jolted into a run. “FRODO BAGGINS, I SAID _TROT_!!!” Bilbo shouted at him. Frodo laughed, slowing Juniper to a halt.

“It was just a joke. Juniper and I didn’t hurt anything,” he said. Bilbo reached over and pinched his ear and twisted it. Frodo yelped.

“I don’t care if it’s a joke,” he snapped, letting go of Frodo’s ear. “You _know_ better than to disobey me _especially_ outside the Shire. Need I remember the Orcs that attacked us three years ago? Or the troll the year before?”

“No, Dad.”

“What about the bandits on our first journey?”

“Dad we’re not even _out_ of the Shire yet! What could _possibly_ happen?”

It was true, they’d not even left the borders yet and they wouldn’t be out of the Shire until they’ve passed the White Downs.

Still, Bilbo worried every time they ventured out of the Shire. Frodo was young and prone to recklessness at times, so Bilbo always worried that this recklessness would get the better of Frodo whenever they left and _that_ was not something he wanted.

“You’re right, we’re _not_ out of the Shire, but I would rather you still listen to me. All right?”

Frodo rolled his eyes, much in the same way Bilbo used to when he thought his own parents were being ridiculously over-the-top protective or needlessly worried (Bungo had been victim to the “eye roll” many times before his passing). “Yes, Dad,” he said with a pinch of sarcasm before urging Juniper into a trot.

“Boys will be boys, eh?” Lóf asked.

Bilbo scoffed. “You have _no_ idea.”

#

A ranger, tall and grimy leaned against a tree on the borders of the forest. Frodo grinned and trotted over to him. “Strider!”

The ranger looked up, revealing a Man full grown, but still young, and a stubble of black hair. “You’ve taken your time this year.”

“So says the ward of Elrond,” Bilbo said, joining them. “Are you intending to come with us this year?”

“Just to make sure there are no hiccups—that is the term, right?” he asked. Frodo nodded. “I’d hate to see you three attacked by Orcs on the road again.”

“So you decide to come with us?” Lóf asked, arching a brow at him and frowning. Bilbo wasn’t sure what it was that Lóf had against Strider and he never said. He snapped something in Khuzdul, which had both Aragorn and Frodo glaring at him.

“He’s got a lady, Lóf!” Frodo snapped. Well that cleared up some things…

“Don’t mean he don’t prefer lads either.”

“True as that is—”

“That’s enough!” Bilbo ordered. He rounded on Lóf, “If you’d rather go ahead then do so, but you _will_ be respectful to a Ranger of the Shire if you choose to stay with us.”

Lóf growled, but nodded, sending another frosty glare at Aragorn before riding ahead. “Keep up if you can, Strider.”

Aragorn faked a shudder. “He gets friendlier each time we meet,” he said. “No matter _how_ many times I remind him I’m courting an Elf.”

“That might be why he doesn’t like you,” Frodo said. He climbed off Juniper and walked beside him. “Dwarves and Elves don’t mix.”

“No they do not. How about you and Mac? Still strong?”

Frodo nodded, grinning brightly. Bilbo trotted ahead to meet Lóf. “You know we’ve no reason not to trust Aragorn. Even if he has a love for both men and women, he’s set his heart on Lady Arwen.”

“Perhaps, but have you _met_ her?”

“I’ve seen her. She’s very beautiful.”

Lóf scoffed. “I don’t trust him around the boy. I’m sure his type are pretty, pale brunets with blue eyes.”

“ _Lóf_ , he’s courting someone. Besides, Men and Hobbits do not have relationships for several reasons.”

“Used to.”

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “ _Used_ to,” he said. “The results ended up being disastrous, you know. Hobbits with a Man parent ended up more violent and more easily swayed by things that go against our nature.”

“Doesn’t stop some.”

Bilbo shuddered. No one liked to dwell on those horror stories. “Let’s not think on them. I trust Strider. All I ask is that you trust my own judgment. He and Frodo are friends. Nothing more. If I didn’t think Strider was honorable, I wouldn’t let him near my son. Simple as that.”

“I know, I don’t mean to question you.”

“But you did,” Bilbo snapped. “It seems to be the only thing people seem to do lately. Question my judgment. Question how I raise my son—”

“You’re right, I am sorry,” Lóf said. “But really, Bilbo, I don’t trust him. And the Elf-maid he’s courting…I’ve my doubts about their relationship. Her father likely doesn’t approve. Elves never approve of mortals falling in love with their children.”

“A natural instinct to protect them from heartbreak,” he said. “It’s going to happen, Lóf. Regardless what you think of Strider. Right now, he and Arwen are as happy as Frodo is with Mac. I find no fault in their friendship. That is all it is.”

He turned around to see them still walking side by side. Strider was laughing as Frodo spoke animatedly to him about something he couldn’t hear.

“They have their own loves and they are happy as things are now. I do not think they will fall in love with each other at all. At least not unless certain things that, for now, are unforeseeable happen.”

Lóf sighed. “You are a good parent, Bilbo. Any who thinks otherwise is a fool, but I care for your boy as if he were a nephew. You’ll have to forgive me for holding the Men he may encounter in contempt. Frodo’s beautiful. That much is uncontested. And beauty can make people do terrible things.”

Bilbo laughed. “You forget that roses have thorns. Frodo is indeed beautiful even by Hobbit standards.  But you’ve seen him with a sword. Whether we admit it or not, he has his sire’s talent with a blade. Beauty is not equated to helplessness, Lóf. You’d do well to remember that.”

Lóf snorted. “Aye, I’ll keep that in mind.”


	15. Chapter 15

Three days passed peacefully. In the evenings after dinner, Bilbo watched Aragorn and Frodo spar warily, seeing how Frodo’s lessons with Fili helped him improve.

They fought with sticks, as it was all just for fun. And Frodo was usually lucky if he managed to “kill” Aragorn more than twice. Getting in five “kills” was immense improvement.

Not that Frodo hadn’t taken any sword fighting lessons before, but having no sparring partner at his height outside the Shire left him rusty by the time they returned. Fili’s presence and instruction had benefitted him greatly.

Bilbo glanced at the moon for a moment, assessing the time.

“Frodo, time for bed. You too, Aragorn.”

“What?!” Frodo cried.

“Why am I being sent to bed?” Aragorn asked, looking quite the petulant little brat. Bilbo did his best to keep a grin off his face.

“Because we’ve an early start tomorrow and I’d rather not deal with Frodo’s whining. As for you, you have last watch, so sooner your asleep the more alert you’ll be.”

“Can’t I switch watch with you?” Frodo asked.

Bilbo shot him an unimpressed glare. “Get your butt in your bedroll.”

Frodo deflated and mumbled under his breath, but he did as he was told.

Bilbo massaged his head.

Tweens. Couldn’t they be easier to raise?

Still, with both boys and Lóf in bed, trying to sleep, Bilbo could think at last. Clear his head, if you will. There was a few days left till they’d catch up with Thorin’s company, if they were on foot it’d be easy to cross paths. He could half predict what would happen when they met again.

He glanced at the sky and frowned at it. It wasn’t the same sky and yet nothing really has changed…

_“You’re awake.”_

_Bilbo wrapped his blanket tighter around him and looked at Thorin, shivering. “I’ve watch. Why else would I be awake?”_

_“I can—”_

_“No. I’m not going to go to bed because I’m cold. Sleeping out here’s hard enough as it is. This way, I’m close to the fire. It’s not great, but I can keep a little warm.”_

_Thorin sat beside him. “It’s colder in the mountain.”_

_“I’m sure,” Bilbo deadpanned._

_Why would it be warmer there? He wrapped his blanket around him tighter and tried to cover his ears as best he could._

_“But it’s warmed by forge-fire and hearths. It might not be as ideal as the Shire, but it could be worse. Give it a few months and Erebor will be just as comfortable.”_

_Bilbo wanted to scoff. Thorin had been acting strangely, less hostile, but no less aloof, since he had embraced him and accepted Bilbo as one of the company._

_“Do you intend to stay?”_

_“Through the winter, yes,” Bilbo said. “But I will need to return to the Shire. Whether I make Erebor a permanent home or not has yet to be decided. I suppose it’ll depend on how things go.”_

_Thorin didn’t respond, but looked down at his feet, hair hiding his face. “The company would be pleased if you chose to stay.”_

_“Just the company,” Bilbo asked._

_“I may speak for the whole of us, but we are fond of you, Master Baggins. Ask any of us, we’d be glad if you decided to stay in Erebor…I would be glad if you chose to stay.”_

_Bilbo sighed. “You may have apologized for the way you’ve treated me since we met, but I never said I forgave you, only that I understood your doubt. Doesn’t mean I haven’t been a burden.”_

_“And I was wrong,” Thorin said. “I can’t explain why, but if you were just a burden, why would I do what I must to protect you? Even after I decided that I would not be held responsible for what happened to you on this journey.”_

_Bilbo pulled his legs up, trying to keep his feet a little bit warmer._

_“We all care for you, Master Baggins. And we’d all like it if you chose to make Erebor your home.”_

_Bilbo saw him raise a hand._

_“May I braid your hair?”_

_“What?”_

_“You’re used to shorter locks. It must be getting in your eyes. A braid would keep it out of your eyes and would also secure your place with us just a little bit more.” A smirk graced his face. “Perhaps you would let me braid the hair on your feet too.”_

_“You’re not going anywhere near my feet,” Bilbo snapped. He stuck his tongue at Thorin for that, caught up in the teasing. “But if you think it’ll keep my hair out of my eyes, then_ please _go ahead. It’ll have to do till I get a pair of scissors.”_

_Thorin looked horrified._

_“What? Oh! It’s a common practice in the Shire to cut one’s hair. There’s no stigma against it. I figured it would be the opposite among Dwarves, but at the same time so many of you have short hair and beards anyway.”_

_“It varies,” Thorin said. “But we never take scissors to our hair, only if we have done something dishonorable.”_

_“So you think my wanting a pair of sheers means I’ve somehow acted dishonorably.”_

_“Believe me, you’ve done nothing of the sort,” Thorin said, pulling the blanket away from Bilbo’s face and head. His fingers stroked the wavy curls on Bilbo’s head, gently grazing the tip of Bilbo’s ear._

_Bilbo bit his lip to keep from sighing at the touch. “Try not to touch my ears, please,” he said._

_Thorin hummed and took a lock of hair at the top of Bilbo’s hair line._

_“I’ll try, but I was thinking of having the braid go behind your ear.”_

_“Just be careful.”_

_“Sensitive ears?” Thorin asked, a soft smile on his face. “Don’t worry. I won’t expose this little secret of yours.”_

_Bilbo scoffed. “Hilarious,” he muttered._

_“Try to stay still.” Thorin wove the braid quickly and easily, using one of his own clasps to bind it. “There. That should hold for a while.” He lowered his hands and Bilbo looked at him._

_“It’s not silly, is it?”_

_Thorin shook his head, “Not at all. I’ll relieve your watch. Goodnight, Master Baggins.”_

_“Are you sure my—”_

_“Yes. I’m sure. Goodnight.”_

_Bilbo frowned. “Fine. Goodnight, Thorin.”_

_He went to his bedroll and turned his back to the fire..._

_“Bilbo, what happened to your hair?!” Kili cried, staring wide eyed at the braid._

_Gandalf was nearest to them and spotted the braid. He approached, taking a better look with a frown._

_“Thorin, a word in private if you please!” Gandalf said curtly._

_“What was that about?” Bilbo asked as Balin followed Gandalf and Thorin away from camp._

_“Did you really accept Uncle’s courtship?” Kili asked, bright eyed._

_Bilbo blanched. “Court—what are you talking about?”_

_Fili sighed. “Typical,” he said. “Uncle didn’t even explain it to him properly.”_

_“That’s a courtship braid, lad,” Dwalin said. He shrugged. “Thorin’s a bit of a fool. Must’ve thought you’d reject him.”_

_“Not that we’d blame him,” Gloin said to his food. “He should’ve told you.”_

_“But—this isn’t possible! Why would he give me a courtship braid? He doesn’t love me—”_

_“The braid in your hair says otherwise,” Fili said. “But since you didn’t know, you can take it out and none of us will think the worst.”_

_Kili rounded on him. “You think it’s okay for him to break Uncle’s heart?! After all this time, don’t you think he deserves—”_

_“Of course I think Uncle deserves to be happy, Kili,” Fili said. “But not at the expense of Bilbo’s free will.”_

_Bilbo sat down on a log, trying to think. “How long has he…?”_

_“Since Bag End, I’d say,” Dwalin said, stroking his beard. “Given all the ways he tried to get you to turn around and go home, it’d make sense. No one wants their One going into danger.”_

_His gaze shifted to Ori, who was trying to dodge Dori’s comb._

_Bilbo stared at his hands, speechless, as everything Thorin had done, nearly being around him at every turn, the unprovoked scorn and disdain coupled with the unexplained incidents of saving him in one moment, then turning on him the next…_

_In a way, it all made sense now._

_Thorin Oakenshield was an idiot and he was in love with him._

_He saw Thorin return, seeming quite annoyed with Balin and Gandalf. Bilbo shot to his feet and stormed over to him, smacking Thorin’s cheek. Thorin stared at him, stunned._

_“You should’ve told me rather than lead me in so many stupid circles!” Bilbo shouted. “You’re lucky I love you, too, you tomnoddy!”_

_“You do?”_

_“You think I’d keep this in my hair if I didn’t?” Bilbo asked. “Or perhaps that I’d kill for just about anyone? I admit that I was rather hasty in leaving everything, but I won’t deny that your blasted song had something to do with it. Again, I’d prefer it if you just told me first—”_

_Thorin seized his jacket, pulling him forward and crushed his mouth to Bilbo’s…_

A hand on his shoulder jolted Bilbo from the memory and he turned around.

Lóf straightened. “Go get some sleep. I’ve got it here.”

Bilbo nodded and went to his bedroll beside Frodo’s, for a moment, he watched his son, deep asleep and undisturbed. Bilbo pulled a stray curl out of Frodo’s face before closing his own eyes and tried to sleep unburdened by memories.


	16. Chapter 16

By midday they had caught up with a group traveling on foot and Lóf whistled. “Were there not enough ponies for the lot of you?” He called and the group halted, turning toward them. Bilbo suppressed a groan as his gaze met Thorin’s.

“We expected to at least beat you there,” Bofur said. “But this might be better.”

“No. It’s not,” Bilbo said. “There tends to be bandits around these parts.”

Thorin frowned at him. “We’re well aware of that. A larger group would keep them off.” He looked at Strider, who had begun a conversation with Dwalin. “Who is he?”

“A friend of Frodo’s and a ward of Elrond’s—well, full grown now, but still raised by them. He’s a Dunedain Chieftain.” Thorin arched a brow. “Anyway, the sooner we pass through here the better.”

“A larger group—”

“Hasn’t deterred them before,” Bilbo snapped. “And it might be _anything_.”

Thorin frowned at him. “Are you often attacked on the road to Ered Luin?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Why?”

Bilbo shrugged, dismounting. He led Rosie forward. “Two hobbits and a Ranger or two is _hardly_ a threat. We’ve managed so far and I have my Ring. I give it to Frodo if things get out of hand. Strength isn’t always in numbers. We’ve been lucky.”

Thorin nodded. He was tense beside him and one of his hands curled around one of his swords. “They never come through the Shire, do they?”

“I wouldn’t know. The Rangers are good at what they do. The Shire’s not been attacked for decades.” Bilbo glanced behind him. Frodo was having a conversation with Bofur, Fili, and Strider. “Besides, we aren’t helpless. Strider and I are quite adept on our own and Frodo might not like it, but if hiding keeps him safe…”

“Then it is worth it,” Thorin said. “I understand, I’ve made the same call before with Fili and Kili when they were younger. After a while I couldn’t keep telling them to hide. Frodo’s getting to that age.”

Bilbo sighed. “I know. I’d rather not _think_ about it, but he hasn’t a sword of his own yet.”

“If you like, I can make him one,” Thorin offered. “It is common for a father to make his children something, especially in the higher class.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said. “But I’m not against you making him a weapon.” Thorin nodded and they fell into an uncomfortable silence. Bilbo wrapped his cloak tighter around him. “It’s usually bandits,” he said. Thorin looked at him. “On our first journey, we were almost killed by goblins—well, I was. Frodo had the Ring on. That’s how we met Aragorn and he offered to escort us after that. Now we travel with him each year. Once it we had to move around an Orc pack. But it’s mostly bandits.”

Thorin sighed. “I should be glad you both still live,” he said. “I’ll thank… _Strider_ …later.” Bilbo smiled and Thorin arched a brow. “What?”

“Lóf thinks Strider fancies Frodo. He gets a bit protective in an uncle-sort of way.”

Thorin shrugged. “He protected you and Frodo. I have no reason not to like him. And if he does happen to fancy Frodo, then I am not adverse to it. At least not now. The only issue I have with him is his Elven upbringing.” Bilbo blinked at him.

“That’s it?”

“You’ve made it clear there’s very little I have the right to do,” he said. “So if I must ask before making Frodo a sword, then I will ask. And I understand that if I disapprove of someone or something, it will be overshadowed by your approval of them. However, I would give my life to protect our son if I must.”

Bilbo hummed. “It’s no different than how far I’d go for him, so I suppose a little help keeping an eye on him would do a world of good.”

Thorin smirked. “Giving you trouble?”

Bilbo sighed. “When does he not? Tweens will be tweens. Yavanna be praised he was a boy! I don’t know what I’d do if I had had a daughter instead! Not that daughters aren’t capable. They are and I don’t think I’d deny a daughter the same education Frodo’s had, but I fear I’d have a harder time allowing a courtship of any sort!”

Thorin laughed. “I suppose there is luck in that.”

Bilbo scoffed, smirking. “She’d have you wrapped around her finger.”

“Not you?”

“Oh, but I’d have twenty-five years to learn to resist the big blue eyes,” Bilbo said. Thorin nodded.

“Aye, I fear that is true. I love my sister, but she need only scream that Frerin and I were bothering her and we’d be in trouble. Say we did have a daughter, what would you have named her?”

“Jasmine,” Bilbo said.

“You’ve thought on this before?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if Frodo _would_ be a boy, even though the Elves had said so. I wanted to be ready in case they were wrong. Frodo’s a good name for a lad. It means _wisdom_. Jasmine is a very fragrant summer flower and most girls are named for flowers or similar. Not all, of course, but flower names are very common in the Shire. Besides, even if I wasn’t going to raise a daughter as royalty, Jasmine means _grace_. It seemed fitting for a princess who would only know one parent.”

Thorin turned his face away. “It would be a fitting name for a Princess of Hobbits and Dwarves,” he agreed. Bilbo slumped his shoulders.

“I’m _not_ royalty, Thorin.”

“Your grandfather was a king.”

“He was the _Thain_ ,” Bilbo corrected. “And it is a title—”

“That is passed on to the eldest living descendant,” Thorin said. “They are in charge of both military and commerce; they make decisions benefitting the whole. Sounds like a king to me.”

There was no _explaining_ to the Dwarves that while similar, the Thain was _not_ a king and Bilbo didn’t know why he even bothered explaining it. They were under the impression that he was a Lord simply because he was from one of the wealthier families and owned land…

Bilbo sighed. “It is similar but _not_ the same,” he said. “And I really wish you’d stop assuming that my grandfather was a king…”

“It is what he is, Bilbo, and I don’t see why you’d say it’s not.”

“Because it’s _not_!” Bilbo snapped. Thorin furrowed his brow. He took a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m tired, I suppose. I didn’t mean to be cross. It’s just we’ve discussed this before and it’s a tiring argument to have repeatedly, you know?”

“I know. You didn’t sleep well last night?”

“Not because wanted to,” Bilbo said. He wasn’t about to admit that he recalled when they began their courtship. “I’ve been on edge since yesterday. If we aren’t attacked, then I’ll be quite happy, but I’m not hopeful, you see. I’ve been sleeping with one eye open.”

Thorin reached for his hand, then pulled back, curling his hand into a fist. “At least let us travel together until your worries are behind you. I admit it’ll be slow as we are on foot…”

Bilbo bit his lip. “All right,” he said. “A larger entourage wouldn’t hurt. But as I said, I’m not hopeful that your presence or the company’s will make much of a difference.” Thorin nodded.

“I understand that, but a few more hands won’t hurt.”

“I know.” Bilbo pulled back, deciding to check on Frodo, laughing at something Bofur said. Bilbo smiled. “How are things over here?”

“Not bad,” Frodo said, “Can I fight this time?” Bilbo’s smile vanished. “Fili said he’d lend me a sword and I _have_ gotten better. _Please, Dad_.”

“I’d rather you not,” Bilbo said.

“But Dad—”

“Your safety comes first and while it is true you’ve gotten better, being better than before _doesn’t_ mean that you’ve mastered sword craft. In a year or two you can fight.”

“The ring can’t protect me forever, Dad!”

“Frodo…”

“And I _hate_ wearing it. I hate cowering when you and Strider fight our enemies alone. I can help.”

Bilbo placed his hands on Frodo’s shoulders. “When you’re _older_ , you can help,” he said, “Right now, I’d prefer it if you made it easier for me to protect you and hide. That way I can defeat whoever attacks us without worrying about them finding you.”

“I’m _twenty-five_ years old! I’m not a child anymore!”

“I know you’re not, but please be patient, Frodo. And I know you hate the ring. I don’t like it that much either, but for now it’s our best weapon for keeping you safe.”

“I can fight.”

“And I said _no_ ,” Bilbo said, battling to keep his temper under control. “Do _not_ argue with me on this, Frodo Baggins. You will _not_ fight and you _will_ do as I say and if I tell you to hide, you take the ring and you _hide_.”

Frodo glared at him and pulled away. He mounted Juniper and spurred the pony into a trot. Bilbo rubbed the back of his head.

“Never gets easier,” Bombur mumbled. Oin scoffed.

“You think that’s bad? You should’ve seen Gimli when we were heading on the quest all those years ago. Never seen Gloin that angry before…”

Bilbo turned to him. “Gloin got angry at Gimli?” he asked. It seemed impossible. Oin laughed.

“They’re always at each other’s throats.”

“I thought they were close.”

“When he was little, yeah, they were close. Then Gimli turned fifty—about the same age as your boy now.” Bilbo hummed.

“But he’s of age now. I’d have thought he’d want to come.”

“He decided to work instead of bother travelling with his dad and uncle. Must’ve heard about all the times Gloin wouldn’t shut up about him and his mother. Didn’t want to risk living through that.” Bilbo threw his head back and laughed. It made sense to him at least.

A loud barking made them still. The ponies fretted and Frodo held onto Juniper as the horse panicked. Bilbo drew Sting, staring at the blue glow covering the sword.

“Wargs!” Dwalin shouted.

And that could only mean one thing...

“Frodo!” Bilbo shouted, mounting Rosie and approaching him. He took the ring and pressed it to Frodo’s hand. “Put it on and hide.”

“But—”

“Frodo, _so help me_ , I will _belt_ you if you do not listen!” Bilbo shouted. Frodo stared at him wide eyed before climbing off Juniper and slipped the ring on.

“Was that necessary?” Thorin asked. Bilbo didn’t respond. Wargs and their riders were nearly upon them. If Thorin wanted to discuss it, they could do so later.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a tissue box ready...  
> Character injury

Bilbo dove between the legs of a tall Orc, jamming Sting into his leg. The Orc howled and Bilbo stabbed him again through the spine before returning to the raging battle and going to Bofur’s aid, slitting the belly of another Orc. The Orc snarled at him and his head was sliced off by one of Dwalin’s axes.

“All right there, Bofur?” Bilbo asked, helping him to his feet.

“Aye,” Bofur said, shakily. “Thanks for that. Duck!” Bilbo dove to the ground as Bofur swung his mattock, embedding the sharp pick into another Orc’s side. Bilbo stabbed it in the chest and they went to the aid of the others.

Someone backed into Bilbo and he spun around, pressing Sting against Thorin’s neck and Orcrist against his. Thorin lowered his blade.

“Before you get mad at me, I found him fighting.”

“What are you talking about?” Bilbo asked, frowning. Then he spotted Frodo standing beside Thorin. “You didn’t make him—”

“What exactly am I supposed to do?”

“I’m okay, Dad,” Frodo said. Bilbo ground his teeth and pulled away before he could give into the urge to wallop Frodo then and there.

“Later,” he said, rushing back into the battle.

_Of all the irresponsible…_

Bilbo was pinned by a Warg and he stabbed its neck before getting out from under the beast. He stabbed it again to hasten its death before running to Oin’s aid.

_Blunder headed…_

He nearly had his eye poked out by Bifur’s pig sticker. Bifur wheezed, clutching his stomach. Bilbo cursed and shouted for Oin. Strider lifted Bifur up and took him from the battle. Bilbo followed.

_Foolish minded things to do!_

“How can I help?” he asked. Strider removed his cloak and pressed it to Bifur’s wound.

“Keep that pressed down. It should slow the bleeding.” He said, pulling string and a needle from his bag. Bilbo blanched.

“What are you—”

“He’ll need a proper healer and were the wound on his arms or legs, I could tie a tourniquet there instead. But the wound is to his stomach and that is normally fatal. I can _stop it_ , but it requires stitches. It’s either that or I cauterize it and we don’t have a fire on hand.”

“What is going on?!” Bofur shouted, joining them. “Bifur?!”

Bilbo grabbed his arm. “Bofur. _Bofur_!” Bofur looked at him, wide eyed. “Strider knows what he’s doing, but we need someone to stop anyone who tries to attack us. Can you do that?”

Bofur nodded and stood, whistling for Bombur. Oin joined them, pushing Bilbo out of the way. Two professional healers were better than one, anyway, so Bilbo, hands covered in black and red blood, stood behind Strider in case an Orc or Warg decided to circle around and attack them from behind.

“All right,” Strider said.

“You’re done?” Bilbo asked, looking behind him.

“No. Sewing’s done.” Strider took a few herbs and chewed them to make a paste. Oin glanced at him suspiciously. Strider made to put it on Bifur and Oin seized his hand.

“What is that?”

“Athelas,” Strider said, “To slow infection. You may know it better as kingsfoil.” Oin released him and Strider applied the paste before wrapping Bifur’s torso with linen strips.

Oin stood. “Help me get him to a pony,” he said. “I’ll take him to the mountain to get proper treatment.” Strider lifted Bifur up again and Bilbo took them to Rosie.

“Ride hard,” Strider said. Oin bowed his head and galloped away from the battle. Wargs tried to follow, but Strider and Lóf mounted their steeds and ran after them.

Bilbo grabbed Bofur’s arm. “He’ll be all right,” he promised. “You need to keep your wits, Bofur.”

“Dad!” Frodo shouted. Bilbo spun around, fear that Frodo had been trapped by an enemy making everything in his being spike. Frodo, clothes splattered in black blood, ran over to him. “I killed a warg!” Bilbo took a deep breath and hid his face in his hands.

“They’re dead,” Thorin declared. “Everyone all right?”

“For the most part,” Dwalin announced.

“Bifur and Oin are on their way to the mountain now,” Bilbo said. “Bifur was injured.” Thorin growled, running his hand through his hair—not the best idea.

“Kili! How’s your leg?”

Kili, leaning against a tree and looking a bit pasty gave him a thumb’s up. “Could be worse,” he said.

“Who else is injured? Just Bifur?”

“I don’t know,” Bilbo said. “Frodo?”

“I’m fine. Promise.”

“Are you?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Good,” Bilbo seized his arm and pulled him away from the others, ignoring the glances they shot at them. Once far enough away, Bilbo took both his shoulder and shook him. “I told you to hide!” he said. “Do you not understand that you are too young to fight?! What if you were injured or killed?! Did you even _think_ about what would happen—”

“I don’t want to be thought of as a coward!” Frodo shot back, pushing Bilbo away. “But you’d rather I be a coward than prove that I’m your son. I can fight, so why won’t you let me?! Here’s the Ring,” he pressed it in Bilbo’s hand. “At least _Thorin_ lets me fight.”

“Frodo, you’re twenty-five years old!” Bilbo snapped. “You’re still a child!”

“I’m old enough to fight!”

“NO YOU ARE NOT!!! YOU COULD HAVE DIED TODAY!!! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN INJURED AND I WOULDN’T HAVE KNOWN!!!” Bilbo embraced him, trying to hide his tears as they spilled down his cheeks. “What do you think I’d do if I lost you?” he asked. “I love you, Frodo. I didn’t raise you all these years to let you die at the point of a sword. You are not a coward, my boy. You never will be and you do not have to prove you are. Not to anyone. But _please_ don’t scare me like this again.” He released Frodo and kissed his forehead. “Go with the others and get cleaned up.”

Frodo nodded and followed the other Dwarves, sticking close to Strider.

“Thorin,” he shouted. Thorin stopped, looking like a trapped doe as Bilbo strode over to him. “What were you thinking letting him fight?!”

“I _didn’t_ ,” Thorin said. “And I did tell him to go hide, but as _expected_ he didn’t listen to me and after _that_ an Orc attacked us. There was little else I could do but keep him close to me so he wouldn’t be hurt.”

“He said you let him!”

“And why would I do that when it would only lead to _this_ ,” he motioned between them. “It would be counterproductive for all of us. I didn’t let him fight. But neither did I let him fight alone. Bilbo, please believe me: I would die before letting harm befall Frodo. Or you.”

Bilbo sighed, hiding his face in his hand, trying to stop the tears. “It wasn’t what should have happened, but thank you anyway…for protecting him.” He lowered his hand. “I don’t know what I’d…”

“He’s alive, save for perhaps a couple scrapes from bad footing, he’s uninjured.” Thorin swallowed. “I’m sorry his being in battle frightened you. He’s a brave young man. And stronger than you think.”

Bilbo shook his head. “You see a youth: a fauntling nearing adulthood and that is true. He is. But there are days I wake up expecting to hear hungry cries or childlike laughter and tiny feet pattering about only to remember moments later that he’s not a child anymore. He doesn’t need me to cook for him or to keep as watchful an eye as I used to. But I draw the line here. He is all I have that is truly dear to me and today I could have been left no choice but to bury him.”

Thorin embraced him and Bilbo tensed, face pressed to Thorin’s chest. “I will not let that happen, _Ghivashel,_ ” he said.

Bilbo stepped away, breaking away from Thorin’s arms. “I know,” he said. “And for that, I thank you.”

He turned on his heel and went to the river to wash up, pretending that his heart wasn’t beating erratically or that he could feel Thorin’s eyes on the back of his head. He doubted Thorin planned to use this as a way to get closer, but the thought still echoed in his head as he approached the river.

#

Frodo stared at Kili’s leg where a scar barely healed stared at him, ugly and white stared back. “How’d you get that?”

Kili glanced at him and then at the scar. “On the quest I was shot with a morgul arrow while attempting to escape the Elvenking’s dungeons,” he said. “It never healed completely and there are days it hurts like the fires of Mordor. Nearly died from it, too. Morgul weapons are poisoned. Supposedly, they turn the injured into a wraith, but since I was saved, I managed to avoid that.”

Frodo hummed and spotted his father joining the group, scrubbing his clothes free of blood.

“Did you get any battle scars today?” Kili asked. Frodo looked at him and shook his head.

“Thorin made sure that the worst I got were some scrapes from tree bark.”

“Well, some day you might have some nice scars.”

He scoffed. “I doubt it,” Frodo snapped. “Dad’s not likely to let me do anything now since I disobeyed him.” Kili shrugged.

“It’s nothing I wouldn’t have done. Even if my mother and Thorin didn’t want me to fight, I’d have fought anyway. I mean, come on, does hiding and keeping out of the way sound anything close to brave to you?” Frodo shook his head. “I mean, I get it when you’re a kid, but once you’re old enough to hold a sword and use it, why not fight?”

Thorin smacked Kili atop the head. “Don’t encourage him,” he snapped.

“But—” Kili and Frodo said.

Thorin silenced them with his hand. “Fighting a battle is not the only way to show you’re brave and the only thing you truly accomplished today was to scare Bilbo.” Frodo bowed his head. “And lied to him on top of it. I know you don’t like me, Frodo. Fine. Don’t.”

“But what? The only reason you’re here is because you want to get back in Dad’s pants,” he snapped. Thorin turned on him, fixing him with a dark, stormy gaze that made Frodo clam up. He looked away.

“Say your piece, Lad,” Thorin growled. “Am I so lowly and dishonorable to you?”

Frodo ground his teeth together.

“ _Well_?”

“Yes!” Frodo shouted. “I hate you! I think you’re a coward and claim to have honor when you have none! A braggart just because you managed to kill some orcs and say that is honor when you turned around and tried to kill my father, using a fancy term for _greed_ as an excuse!” He waded back to shore. “We may share blood, you may be my sire, but I will forever be ashamed to be the son of Thorin Oakenshield for that name brings nothing but dishonor and shame!”

He jumped out of the river and gathered his clothes, needing to get away before he did something else he’d probably regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't decided to kill off any characters yet, so Bifur's fate is currently up in the air...


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have tissues on hand.

The stunned silence that encompassed the group as Frodo fled was only broken by the rustling leaves and the gentle current. Thorin leaned against a rock, shaking far too visibly. Bilbo waded over to him, touching Thorin’s arm. “I’ll talk to him,” he said. “Are you all right?”

 _What am I saying?_ Bilbo thought, _of course he’s not all right_. The deceitful, curt nod was Thorin’s only response before wading away from the company.

“Uncle—”

Bilbo grabbed Kili’s wrist. “Leave him alone,” he said. “Leave him be for now.”

“But—”

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Bilbo said. “Just let him have his privacy.” He shot the same look to Fili. He looked as though he was deciding whether it’d be wise or not to go anyway. He backed down and dunked under the surface to wash his hair instead.

“Uncle’s not dishonorable.”

“I know that, Kili. Frodo…honestly, I never meant for Frodo to feel how he does toward him. Truly, I never did, and I figured he’d eventually grow to try and understand…” Bilbo sighed. “I will talk to him before dinner.” He waded away from Kili to finish washing up and then grabbed clean clothes from his pack before hunting Frodo down.

He was sitting beside a tree, hiding his face between his knees. Bilbo sat beside him. “Are you going to yell at me?” Frodo asked.

“No,” Bilbo said. “I think we’ve had enough yelling for one day. But you do know that what you said to Thorin really hurt him.” Frodo nodded. “I know you’re angry with him. I am too. But he loves you, Frodo. He really loves you.”

“I think I’d rather you yell at me.”

Bilbo wrapped his arm around Frodo’s shoulders. “I need to know what is going on. Why the grudge? What’s really going on? Because last I checked, you and he were starting to get along a little bit.”

Frodo sniffed, hugging his legs tighter. “I know. I don’t want to get to know him.”

“Why not?” Bilbo asked.

“Because he tried to kill you and me—I know you and he didn’t know about me yet, but…I was still there. Right? I was…”

Bilbo kissed the top of his head. “Now how can you think that we not knowing about you at the time would mean he intended to kill you too? Believe me, Frodo: Thorin loves children. He had raised his own nephews and while Kili is still a bit of a brat, Thorin did his best with them. How well then would he have raised you, given the chance? If we had known about you then, I think that might’ve been the only other thing that could have possibly snapped him out of the gold madness. And Frodo, it was a curse and it was a horrible curse that was laid on your father’s line. And I am always scared it’s going to come for you, too.”

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that. Thorin had often said he would not succumb to it and he did. Pretending it can’t effect you either would be folly, lad. It took him a while and I cannot fault him for taking his time. I’m not saying I am happy with him here. And I am not saying that I’m glad about it. Frodo if I thought he was really a danger to us, I would not let him near us.”

“But you still love him.”

“Yes. I do still love him. But being in love with him is not the same as forgiving him. I don’t think I can forgive him for what he did to me. I don’t need or want you to shoulder that pain and anger too.”

“But you are forgiving him.”

“Frodo, I haven’t forgiven him. I don’t know if I can. Hobbits don’t have Ones, but Míl and Lóf both pointed something out to me a few years back and I just didn’t listen then because I didn’t want to. Now, as much as I don’t want to admit it, they were right. For some reason, I am a Hobbit who has a One. It’s not as if I didn’t try falling in love with someone else over the years. Many Hobbits and Dwarves would have been wonderful parents for you, but none of them… _felt_ right.”

Frodo sniffed again. “I love you, Dad.”

Bilbo rubbed his back. “I love you, too, my _sael ioneg_. And whether you like it or not, you will apologize to Thorin for what you said.”

“Do I _have_ to?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “You don’t have to forgive him for what he’s done, but you know you were out of line today in so many ways.”

“But—”

“No,” Bilbo said. “No buts. You will apologize to Thorin about what you said and you will do so before dinner. After that, you can help cook, you can go practice the sword with Strider, or you can go to sleep, or whatever you like so long as you stay close to camp.” Frodo lifted his head, eyes red-rimmed cheeks flushed. Bilbo handed him his handkerchief.

“I don’t want to.”

“I know. Would you rather I go with you?” Frodo nodded and Bilbo stood, helping him up. “Okay, let’s go find Thorin, then.” Frodo wiped his tears away and let himself be led back toward the camp.

Bilbo figured he’d might want to avoid the company and they steered around the camp. He doubted Thorin would be with them anyway. Besides, they were likely burning the corpses at the moment and he’d rather Frodo not see that.

His ears picked up the sound of an ax chopping wood and while it might _not_ be Thorin, it was a place to start. The sun was setting and it was getting dark enough to need a torch. Perhaps that was for the best.

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked. The ax fell again and stilled. They approached and Frodo shook. Bilbo rubbed his arms, trying to assure him it wouldn’t be as bad as he felt. Finally, he could see Thorin’s silhouette against the trees. “Frodo has something to say.”

Frodo still shivered. “I-I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” he said. He tried to move back, but Bilbo tightened his hold, waiting to see if Thorin had anything to say.

“Why did you then?” Thorin asked just as Bilbo was about to let Frodo go. His voice was thick and raspy. “How could you possibly think what you said was all right to say to me?”

Frodo bowed his head. “You told me to speak my mind, so I did,” he said. Thorin sighed.

“That is really how you think of me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m sorry you think so little of me, Frodo,” Thorin said. “And I am sorry you find shame in sharing my blood. But I cannot help that. I love you, Frodo. I love you so much.”

“If you really did you would have come! I sent so many letters before!” Bilbo started. Letters? Since when? “So why didn’t you come if you loved us—”

“I didn’t get any letters,” Thorin said. “And if I did, I swear I would have come.”

“Frodo, you were sending letters to Erebor?” Frodo nodded. “Thorin, does anyone go through the letters before they get to you?”

“Uh…yes. Balin thought it’d be wise since death threats might come to me that way and other things. He and Nori and Dwalin agreed it’d be wiser…”

“So someone in Erebor knows about Frodo.”

“We don’t know if the letters got there. It’s highly possible they didn’t.”

“Frodo,” Bilbo said. “You can go now. I need to talk to Thorin.” Frodo bolted and Bilbo started to pace. “This is bad.”

“Why? What’s wrong? Frodo is not a threat.”

“I know that. You know that. The company knows that. But Thorin, I’m a Hobbit with a half-Dwarf son. It is _hard_ keeping Frodo’s identity secret and there are purists everywhere. In the Shire, I can handle them. In other lands, I am powerless against them. If Frodo’s been sending letters to Erebor and if they’ve gotten to Erebor, they are _not_ going to you. They’re going to someone who doesn’t want you to know about Frodo. You’re coming here would definitely mean you’d find out.”

“Bilbo no one has gone after Frodo.”

“It’s likely it was safe for him before and now it’s not because they might think you’d put him on the throne of Erebor instead of Fili.”

“Which isn’t happening. We both agreed.”

“They wouldn’t know that!” Bilbo cried. “If anyone knew Frodo was your son…if anyone knew who he was…to be honest, Thorin, how many times did someone try to kill you when you were a child?”

Thorin lifted the ax again. “There is nothing to be done about that tonight. For now, our main concern is reaching the mountain. When we arrive, I will send a letter to Dis. She might be able to find the letters if they did reach Erebor.”

Bilbo crossed his arms. “I suppose it’ll have to do, but if Dwarves attack us on the road—”

“Have they ever?”

“No.”

“Then I doubt they will now, even if they know who Frodo is.” He started hacking away at the tree again. Bilbo swallowed.

“And after that what?”

“I don’t know,” Thorin said. “I still want to be close, but I don’t…” he sighed, throwing the ax down. “The irony is that he’s more like me than he knows. I was _a lot_ like him now at that age. Up to my grandfather’s death, I abhorred him. If I did talk to him, I was cruel. I never admitted that to anyone because I wanted to forget how angry I was with my grandfather. I knew I was cruel but I don’t think I realized how much till tonight.”

Bilbo approached him. “He is your son just as much as mine. He is hurting in a way I wasn’t aware of and I don’t know how to help him. Today has been hard for everyone, so I think for now, we should just…just go to bed and deal with it in the morning.”

He found Thorin’s arm.

“You think I’m a coward too?” Thorin asked.

“No,” Bilbo said. “I think you fought so hard for so long that giving in was almost too easy and I am angry that the love we had wasn’t strong enough to break through to you.”

“Apart from the Arkenstone the only other thing I had on my mind was you. You were far more precious to me than anything else and the Arkenstone was needed.”

“For what? I fell in love with Dwarf who was already a king and shouldn’t have needed to possess a rock in order for his reign to be secured. You didn’t need it. You never did. You took back the mountain without it, with only twelve other Dwarves and a Hobbit. You didn’t need it, Thorin, to be a King. I was angry and I was hurt and I wanted to hurt you back.”

Thorin’s hand cupped his cheek and Bilbo leaned into it. _Please, Mother Goddess, I don’t want to love him anymore. But I don’t think I can fight how I feel anymore._ He licked his lips.

“Can we try to forget what happened? I can’t forgive you. I don’t think I ever will, but I just want to forget it ever happened and go back to the way things used to be because I don’t think I can fight how I feel for you anymore. I missed you so much.”

Thorin kissed him. It was hungry and harsh. Desperate and devouring. Salty from tears—both their tears—and scratchy. Bilbo returned it, nipping Thorin’s lower lip.

_Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea._

_Bad. Bad. Bad._

“Thorin?!” Dwalin called. They broke away.

“Bilbo?!” Bofur shouted. Where are you?”

Bilbo stepped out of Thorin’s reach. “We should go back,” he said, striding past Thorin.

_What have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, we want Thorin to keep working at it and I promise he is still going to have moments where he messes up. Same as Bilbo and Frodo, but honestly...yeah...
> 
> ~Sindarin~  
> Sael Ioneg=Wise Son


	19. Chapter 19

Bilbo avoided Thorin the next few days, proverbially beating himself atop the head for allowing Thorin to kiss him. It wasn’t easy avoiding Thorin’s confused and heartbroken glances. Bilbo wasn’t going to hold that against him. He’d be confused and hurt too if their places were reversed.

In the meantime, Bilbo busied himself making sure Aragorn, Frodo, Fili, and Kili didn’t end up hurting themselves while practicing. Fili, Bilbo found, wasn’t a bad instructor for Frodo and it seemed more like a game between the cousins rather than lessons.

And still, even in these enjoyable, peaceful moments, Bilbo avoided Thorin.

On the night before they’d reach the mountain and camped on the shores of the River Lune, Thorin approached him, handing him a bowl of Bombur’s stew. Bilbo thanked him and started to eat, aware Thorin still watched him. After a couple uncomfortable bites, Bilbo turned to him.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

“Many things are on my mind these days,” Thorin said, setting his bowl down. “Such as certain kiss we shared a week ago. Normally, when two people kiss, one of them doesn’t try to avoid the other. Or am I mistaken?” Bilbo shook his head.

“You’re not, but we aren’t exactly your usual pair of lovers, Thorin.”

“ _Lovers_ ,” Thorin scoffed. “Are we? Because if so, I am _very_ confused on your definition of lovers.”

Bilbo looked at him, frowning. “You kissed me, remember?”

“And you kissed me back,” Thorin said. “Or have I imagined that?”

Bilbo set the bowl down. “It’s more complicated than you think.”

“You said you wanted to forget what happened, but it doesn’t feel like you want to. Why? I am willing to put the past behind us. I am desperate to put it behind us, but I cannot do that alone. I love you. You know I love you and still you play with me as though I am nothing more than a dog—”

“I am _sorry_ that my own confusion about that night is hurting you,” Bilbo said. “And I _do_ want to move past it, but it is more complicated now, Thorin! I cannot just run off again! When we met, I didn’t have the responsibilities I have now.”

“I am not asking you to run away with me again! I never asked that in the first place! Everything I did in the early days of our quest was in hopes of protecting you.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes! You hardly ever spoke to me in those days! It wasn’t until after I saved your arse from Azog that you could even bear to really speak with me, though you were _quite_ clear in your distaste for me.”

“Can we _not_ talk about that?”

“Oh? You’re perfectly fine talking about the Arkenstone, but not about how you saw me as useless—”

“You were never useless! I apologized for how I treated you then and I thought we had put that behind us!” Bilbo rolled his eyes and spotted the others watching them. He grabbed Thorin’s arm and pulled him away from the camp.

“We did put it behind us. Which is why I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I am the one giving everything up this time. You and Frodo are worth more than all the gold in Erebor, and far more precious than the legacy of my ancestors. For good or ill, I am staying.”

“And how is that going for you so far?” Bilbo snapped. “Are you happier? Are you content?”

“Far from it,” Thorin said. “But I cannot return to Erebor. Not when I know what my decision has wrought! I don’t care how long it takes. I _have_ to fix this. Or did I imagine that you told me that you still loved me? I love _you_. I owe it to you to make it right.”

“Thorin—”

“I _owe it_ to you. And I owe it to Frodo. Please…how many times do I have to tell you…to _prove_ to you that I really do love you?”

Bilbo rubbed his face, sniffing before lowering his hands. “I know you love me, that’s not what’s at question here.”

“You said—”

“I know what I said!” Bilbo shouted. “And it was cruel! I know that and I am sorry! I don’t know how I’m supposed to move past it! I think it’d just…I don’t know. I don’t. A part of me wants to be with you again and the other just wants to be left in peace to raise Frodo to be the best Dwobbit he can be.”

Thorin’s eyebrows rose. “Dwobbit?”

“Blame my midwives,” Bilbo said. “They came up with it.” Thorin let out an odd sound and Bilbo looked at him. He was laughing. “What?”

“Dwobbit? Really? They called our son a _Dwobbit_?”

Bilbo’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Well, it’s not as much of a mouthful as ‘Dwarf-Hobbit’ and I think Lobelia tried ‘horf’ or ‘harf’ but…it sounded like choking, so Dwobbit it was.” Thorin shook his head. “What? Are you mad because you’re _not_ mad anymore?”

“No, I’m still mad and that would not make any sense.”

Bilbo sighed. “Look, I am sorry I avoided you, but I spent the last twenty-five years being angry at you. And I do want to let it go. I do want to move on and you being here has only made me realize that I still love you with all my heart and I just…I don’t understand why I still love you. You broke my heart. You chose wealth, honor, and glory over common sense! You tried to kill me over a _rock_. Thorin that is not something I can forgive. And I won’t. For some reason Kili thinks I should forgive you. He thinks Frodo should jump for joy and…”

“He’s wrong. You’re right. I don’t deserve to be forgiven for that. I can’t even forgive myself for what happened that day. I was heartbroken that day too, but that doesn’t mean I had any right to try and kill you. I don’t regret meeting you and I don’t regret falling in love with you. What I do regret is how I went about it and I don’t know how to make it right.”

“You can’t. That’s why I said I wanted to put it behind us. It can’t be made right. We can’t go back in time. Not even Gandalf can do that, even if he wanted to.” Bilbo stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So now what? We kissed, Thorin. We still love each other, but I don’t know if I can trust you again. I did once and I got hurt. I do want you back, but I’m scared of getting burned again and now I have to keep what is best for Frodo in mind.”

Thorin cupped Bilbo’s cheeks and pressed their foreheads together. “Frodo doesn’t need to know.”

“Thorin, we just argued about it in front of the camp. He is smart. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s hiding in the bushes right now listening to us.”

“If he knows, he knows, and there is nothing I can do about that,” Thorin said. “I will not stand aside and let you walk away from me again. I can’t go on like this. You have every right to be mad at me. Okay. Be mad, be furious, but do not lead me on. Do not kiss me and pretend nothing has happened between us recently. Have we not been cruel enough? I know I am asking a lot, but I…” Thorin swallowed. “Bilbo I can’t let you run away from me again. So just tell me the truth: will you have me back or will you not?”

Bilbo blinked and licked his lips. Thorin’s hands were warm on his skin and his breath hot. Bilbo looked down. How was he supposed to answer a question he didn’t know the answer to?

“You said I could stay and try to get to know Frodo.”

“Yes, but I never said I’d—”

“Not until last week did I hope. I am determined, yes, and being near you without being allowed to let you know how much I love you _hurts_ , Bilbo. I can’t keep my distance. Especially not when I know you still love me as much as I love you. Have we not hurt each other enough?”

“And what do you want me to do? I want to forget…I don’t think I can.” Bilbo took Thorin’s wrists and pulled them off, stepping away from him before releasing his hands. “I love you but I do not trust you enough to give you back my heart. At times, I wonder why I even let you near Frodo. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I shouldn’t have let you kiss _me_. I know that and I am so sorry. I want to let it go, but I don’t know if right now is the best time to try letting go.” He wanted to look away and avoid seeing Thorin’s heart break again. But he couldn’t look away. Bilbo sighed. “Perhaps it would be better if you just go back to Erebor with the others when spring comes. For all of us. It’s clear that being here isn’t doing you any good, and I don’t know how many times I can watch your heart break because that’s all that seems to happen these days and it rips me apart, too.”

“Then stop breaking my heart,” Thorin said. “I’m not leaving you again. I won’t lose you again. I can’t. If I leave now, then I truly have lost what honor I have left.” He reached for his belt and pulled out a dagger. Bilbo felt his blood run cold.

“What are you doing?” Thorin gripped his hair and pressed the blade to the strands. Bilbo lunged, grabbing his arm and pulling the blade away. “If you do that, you can never return to any mountain!”

“I know. I won’t even be allowed to set foot in Ered Luin.”

“I don’t want that!”

“It is my choice to make,” Thorin shouted. Bilbo wrenched the dagger from him and stepped back. “Bilbo, give it to me. If this is the only way to prove that you and Frodo are the only ones who matter to me then so be it!”

“But it is _not_ the only way—”

“Then tell me what other choice I have?” Thorin shouted. “I won’t leave you and Frodo. And I will not return to Erebor. Returning to Erebor would bring me nothing but shame. I would rather be exiled from the kingdoms than let you run from me another time. Or do you not even trust the very words I speak or the actions I have taken since returning? I have professed my love for you time and time again and it doesn’t seem to matter. I have tried to connect with Frodo, but for every step forward I try to take, he takes two steps back and I do not know how to reach him.”

“You don’t have to cut your hair. It is too much.”

“But would you believe me if I did cut it off?” Thorin asked. “Would you trust that I would not harm you again if I gave you my hair?”

“I do not want your hair!” Bilbo shouted.

“Then what _do_ you want?!”

Bilbo felt as though his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He licked his lips. “I don’t know. But I know I don’t want you to be exiled from your people.”

“You don’t think I deserve to pay for my crime? Is that it? I have lived my life as though I am above the law, and it cost me _you_. The price is too high and I will not live another moment without paying for what I did.” He pulled Orcrist out and sliced the blade through his hair.

Bilbo dropped the dagger and Thorin approached him. “Take it,” he said, holding ebony and silver locks out. “Bilbo, take it.”

He obeyed, closing his hands around the lustrous strands. He stared at the hair. “What have you done?”

“Only what is necessary,” Thorin said, pulling his cloak up over his head.

“Thorin—”

“I will be in Mithlond for the season,” he said. “I’ve enough coin to last a while and there should be a smithy in need of another pair of hands.” Bilbo followed him to camp, Thorin’s hair still in his hand. Once back, the camp silenced on seeing them. Bilbo lowered his gaze, unable to meet their eye.

“What did you do?” Balin asked, horrified.

“I didn’t ask for this, he just…I tried to stop him…”

Frodo stood and took the hair from him. “I’ll handle the rest,” he said. “Did he really cut it himself?” Bilbo nodded. Frodo stared at him, then at the hair. Bilbo sat down, holding his head in his hands and tried not to weep as Frodo approached Thorin. “You cut it yourself?”

Thorin arched a brow. “I did.”

Frodo stared at him for a moment then he bowed.

“In my father’s place, I, Frodo son of Bilbo of the Baggins line, accept this token as sufficient apology for your crime and insult. _Men kemgu gajum menu._ ” He turned to the fire and tossed the hair into the flames and the Dwarves began to chant.

Bilbo couldn’t meet their eyes, too overwhelmed with all that had happened to even meet their gaze.

 _Why couldn’t I stop him_? He thought. Frodo sat beside him and took his hand, lying his head on Bilbo’s shoulder as the prayers continued to rise with the smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Khuzdul~  
> Men kemgu gajum menu=I accept your apology
> 
> In other news: I was NOT intending for the events of this chapter to go the way they did. Thorin, it seems, has a mind of his own and will not listen to me. I had a plan, Thorin. A PLAN!!! So you'll have to excuse me while I figure out how to fix this. *glares at Thorin*
> 
> Watched AUJ EE last night and I noticed something that I didn't before: Thorin *rarely* talks directly to Bilbo. Even our favorite "He was lost..." scene wasn't even said to Bilbo, even though Thorin was looking at him. It's cruel, but it wasn't the screaming I always remembered it as. To add, Thorin seemed to be dogging Bilbo's steps a little bit. Thorin may make his "distaste" for Bilbo being there known here and there, but he only talked to Bilbo in Bag End and at the very end. Otherwise, Thorin's just..."how do I talk to him without putting my foot in my mouth again?"
> 
> Can't wait to see BOFA!!! Finally got my ticket! And from what I've been reading it's...rip-you-to-shreds sad. So I had to get the tickets on a day I wouldn't have work so that I can see the movie, go home, and cry.


	20. Chapter 20

Thorin parted ways with them at the foot of the mountain, embracing his kin and companions. He even exchanged a head bump with Frodo. Things had been a little less icy between them since Thorin cut his hair. Frodo wasn’t calling him _adad_ or _father_ , but it was improvement of a sort.

Bilbo, on the other hand, was angry.

Since the shock of what Thorin had done ebbed over the last couple days, he’d been angry. There were several ways he could try to make it up to them without losing his honor.

But _no_. He cut his hair to the nape of his neck and now it just _barely_ came to his shoulders in waves. He at least left his beard alone rather than sheer that off too.

Bilbo likened the gesture to a selfish one. Similar to a desperate lad who proposes to his beloved in a large crowd. Manipulative. Cruel. It was as if Bilbo was being forced to accept an apology. If Frodo was sated by it, then very well. He could accept it. Bilbo would not.

“Bilbo?” He looked at Thorin, who held his hand out. “Until next time?”

He stared at the offered hand as if it was shaped as a lobster’s claw. Still, he gripped Thorin’s hand. _You could have sent flowers_ , he thought. _Or wrote a letter. Or tried to cook. Or anything other than this!_

“Until next time,” he said stiffly, letting go of Thorin’s hand as if it were scalding.

Thorin didn’t drop his hand immediately as Bilbo strode past him. Dwalin stayed with Thorin, heading to Mithlond while the rest of them walked to the mountain gate. The Dwarves out front tipped their hats on seeing Bilbo and Frodo.

They were recognizable and well known in Ered Luin by now. A pair of Hobbits, one half-Dwarf, were a strange enough sight as it was. Bilbo didn’t mind the staring. It was bound to happen. What he did mind, though were the new onslaught of comments:

_Is that really Frodo Baggins?_

_Grew a bit more since we last saw the lad…_

_A bit elf-pretty…_

_Is he of age yet?_

_Sadly not…_

_Pity…_

It was one thing when talk was directed at Bilbo. He could ignore that happily enough, but no one talked that way about his son and got away with it. He looked behind him at the group of eager Dwarves and glared, resting his hand on his hilt.

He was never a picture of intimidation like Dwalin was. Nor was he very good at glaring. At least not as good as Thorin ever was. But it was enough. An angry parent was never a person to cross. But it didn’t seem to do much till an arrow landed in one of their feet. The Dwarf screamed, and fell, clutching his foot. His companions helped him sit.

“Kili!” Bilbo shouted. He grabbed his wrist. “Lower your bow!”

“You’d let them speak of—”

“No, I won’t,” Bilbo hissed. “Now don’t say another word. I’m begging you. They don’t know Frodo is Thorin’s son and I would like to keep it that way.” He let Kili’s wrist go and approached the now frightened group, hand resting on Sting’s hit. “I’d leave if I were you. Do not look at my son ever again.”

They scurried off and Bilbo returned to the group. “Kili, a word.” Kili followed him into an alley. “What were you thinking?”

“I just—”

“No. They’ll probably be rumors stating that Frodo is your child. Or that you’re courting him.”

Kili wrinkled his nose. “Ew.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. _Ew_ indeed. “I appreciate you wanted to help, but it was completely unnecessary.”

“The last few years have proved that it _can_ be necessary,” Kili admitted. “But I won’t do it again.”

“That would be helpful,” Bilbo said. “Thank you.” He and Kili started to return to the group when Kili asked the one question that Bilbo had hoped never to hear:

“Are you ever going to forgive him?” Bilbo looked at Kili again. “He does love you, Bilbo. He might have a hard time expressing it, but he couldn’t love anyone as much as he loves you.”

“He tried to kill me,” Bilbo said. “That’s not something that can be forgiven, Kili.”

“He wasn’t himself.”

“A part of him was.”

“I cannot in good conscious forgive him.”

“He cut his hair because he loves you.”

“I did not want him to cut his hair because I love _him_ ,” Bilbo said. “I begged him _not_ to.”

“I know. We didn’t eavesdrop, but when you and Thorin came back, you looked devastated. I knew you wouldn’t ask that of him just as I knew he’d do anything to make it up to you.”

“Can we just go back? Frodo and I need to get to Míl’s house.”

“So you still love him?”

“Kili, it doesn’t matter if I still love Thorin,” Bilbo snapped, ignoring the bright grin on his face. “I couldn’t fall out of love with Thorin if I wanted to, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to forgive him. Or that I’m ready to take him back. And right now…” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, Frodo and I have to go settle in. Then I want to make sure Bifur’s okay.”

Kili nodded. “See you around, then.” They returned to the group and exchanged goodbyes. Míl greeted them outside her house, first embracing Frodo.

“Look at you! Only a few months and you’ve grown at least another inch or two!”

Frodo blushed and tried to make himself seem smaller as Míl gushed over him. He managed to escape after a moment and Bilbo laughed. “Aye, he’s getting bigger. Hopefully he won’t be as tall as Thorin…that could be a problem.”

“Pah!” Míl said, leading Bilbo inside. “Thorin Oakenshield is tall all right, but Frodo isn’t likely to get much taller than four feet, I’m sure.” Bilbo hoped not. “Is he still in the Shire?” Bilbo explained the situation up to their arrival. Míl tisked. “He’s greedy to a fault, with or without the madness in his system. What else can be said? But it is clear in my eyes that he loves you and Frodo dearly. That must count for a _little_ something. Oh, I’m sure the company is _begging_ you to forgive him, but there are very few crimes committed between couples and a crime such as _that_ …”

“You think I’m right in withholding him?”

“Well within your right. I wouldn’t be the first to think it. He can love you for the rest of his days to his dying breath and in the afterlife. It wouldn’t matter in my book. If I had a One like that, I’d be uneasy around him too.”

“I’m not…I’m not uneasy. He’s not done anything to show that he’s still affected, but…”

Bilbo sighed and leaned against the table. “He cut his hair. Should I forgive him then?”

“Well at least he did _something_ right,” Míl said. She sat down beside him and patted his hand. “There is no greater gesture of remorse than that, Bilbo. But whether your forgive him or not is up to you. Did it at least make you feel better?” Bilbo shook his head.

“Frodo’s okay with it.”

“I’m sure he is,” Míl said. “He is a Dwobbit and he would know what it means to cut one’s hair after all. I’m sure he accepted it even if you couldn’t.” Bilbo nodded. Míl stood. “If Thorin is smarter than I think he is, he’ll figure it out. In the meantime, you’ve had a long journey and I’m sure you’d like to rest.”

#

The room they purchased for the next few months had two beds against either wall. Thorin sat on the left side bed while Dwalin stayed downstairs, getting food for them, thumbing through one of Bilbo’s album’s again. Everything was dated with little explanations in the margins.

One was a drawing of a rather disgruntled looking cat squeezed in Frodo’s embrace.

_June 13trh, 1351. Frodo found a very fluffy black cat and brought her home. She wasn’t pleased, but I drew a portrait of the two of them. He named her Berry. We’ll see how long she stays before deciding to run off._

Below that was another date, one week later: _June 19 th, 1351. Berry ran away. Frodo’s quite distraught, but I promised that we’d get him a new pet later. _

He’d have to ask if they ever got that new pet. If so, what was it and what happened to it?

Dwalin returned, handing Thorin a plate of food. He thanked him and set the book to the side.

“So, what now?” Dwalin asked. “After the season?”

“I stay. What else can I do? If any wishes to stay with me, they may—except Fili and Kili, they’ll need to return to Erebor. It can’t go on much longer with Dis on the throne. Who knows what she’ll do.”

“I suppose that’ll have to do,” Dwalin said. “Though I didn’t think he’d demand you to—”

“Bilbo didn’t demand anything,” Thorin said. “I decided to cut my hair myself and I think I am better off for it.”

“You banished yourself.”

“It’s no more than I deserve,” Thorin said. “If I can get a raven, I’d like to send Dis a message.”

“What? Tell her you’re never returning?”

“Well, she doesn’t need the details…but rather to look into something. Frodo, it seems, sent messages to me before. Either they didn’t get to the mountain…”

“Or someone doesn’t want you to know about him,” Dwalin growled. “Aye, we’ll find a raven and Dis will smoke ‘em out.” Thorin stabbed his potatoes. “But who’d deny you the right to know your own child? Or to reunite with your One?”

Thorin didn’t know. Someone who didn’t like Hobbits? A purist?

“At the moment, everyone who was in charge of reviewing those messages is suspect,” he said. “And I trust Dis will find them out before the year ends.”

Dwalin nodded. “If anyone can find it out, Dis can. Though, you may want to tell her you have a son too.” Thorin agreed. Dis hated games. It was better to just tell her what to look for and wait for the results to come. Telling her about Frodo, though, would mean that as soon as Fili and Kili returned, she’d be on her way to the Shire to meet her nephew.

But that was for another day.

“So, why cut your hair?” Dwalin asked. “Bilbo didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Frodo did.”

“Frodo isn’t the one you wronged. He may feel like it, but he’s a teenager,” Dwalin said. “Fili and Kili were just as bad at that age. Equivalently.”

Thorin stared at his food. “Bilbo thought it’d be better if I left. In some ways, he was probably right, but I’m not leaving. I don’t care how long it takes to win him back. This way, I can’t return to Erebor. This way, other Dwarves will know my disgrace, as they should. And this way, I can figure out what he does want from me. He’s not helping.”

“He’s killing you.”

Thorin sighed. “Then so be it. I love him. And I will walk into Mordor if it means getting him back. Would you do anything less for Ori?”

Dwalin slumped his shoulders. “No. I wouldn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saw BOFA yesterday. It was too much...TT.TT


	21. Chapter 21

Dis is a practical woman through and through and when a letter arrived from Mithlond, she was a bit curious and read the scrolled note quietly while the raven let her stroke his feathers.

Her teeth ground at the stubbornness of her brother’s One and equally so at the contempt her nephew held for her brother. Well, she’d set that right as soon as her boys returned. Thorin at least was doing something right by deciding to stay. A child needed both parents and while that never worked for her, she at least had Thorin to help her after her One’s untimely death.

Apart from the summary of events—and she suspected Thorin was holding something back—Dis committed Thorin’s request to memory. Find the letters. That would be good and all if there were letters to be found. It was likely who hid them from them probably burned them as well so to make it easier for himself.

She hoped that was not the case, but she knew to be ready to send her brother the bad news.

Dis dismissed the court and approached a guard.

“Bring me the message sorters,” she demanded, “Immediately. Send others to their houses. Search for the letters if they are still whole.”

The guard bowed and barked the command she had given.

She’d give it about an hour or two at most to round up the sorters. And when they came in just before the hour long mark (in which time, she read missives), the sorters were lined up and pushed to their knees. Several were afraid. Some were confused. 

“My brother sent me a rather interesting letter,” she declared, “revealing to me that he has a child. This child tried to contact him many times in the past and eventually stopped trying to reach him. Now, if these letters had reached Erebor, they ought to have _immediately_ gone to the king. Regardless of the prejudices you may have.”

She watched their faces. Many of them looked shocked. One of them, however, kept his head bowed. She approached him and tilted his chin up.

“Why would you betray your king in this manner?” she asked him. His eyes widened.

“M-my lady it was not me,” he said. Dis arched a brow. “I swear to you, had they come to me I would have sent them.”

Dis hummed and a pair of guards entered with a box, which they handed to her. Dis opened it and pulled out a random letter before opening it.

 

> _Dear Mr. Thorin,_
> 
> _I hope you write soon and that my letters are getting to you all right._
> 
> _Dad is still sad, so if you can’t write, I hope you’ll at least come. Our birthday is in four months, so maybe you can surprise Dad by coming to it._
> 
> _I hope you come._
> 
> _I want to meet you._
> 
> _Dad said we’ll be going to the Blue Mountains so I can learn more about Dwarves. Dad said when I’m old enough I can get my own braids. He said you wore two in front of your ears. Do you still wear them? Or have you changed your hair style since then?_

The letter went on, but Dis didn’t have the heart to read more. These were the letters meant for Thorin and she wouldn’t intrude further. Dis put the letter away and looked at the guard.

“Where did you find them?”

“In the house of Grum son of Thorek,” he said.

Dis looked at them. “Rise, Master Grum.”

The guards helped him to his feet. At least he wasn’t smart enough to get rid of the evidence, but at least she can figure out what drove him to keep Frodo a secret from Thorin.

“I will deal with you in due time.”

They led him out and the sorters were sent back to work. A couple offered apologies to their king, swearing they would have brought the letters straight to him had they known. Some Dis believed, others she wasn’t so sure of.

But she did know this would _never_ happen again if she could help it. For the moment, it couldn’t be helped. She put the letter back in the box, closed it and wrapped it in an oilskin to protect the finish. After that, she wrote quick note assuring Thorin that she found the letters and that she would deal with the traitor in his stead. Once done, she summoned ravens to take it straight to him.

Dis watched them disappear and returned to the throne. She slumped in it, sighing.

She hoped this put things right. Even if just a little bit. It would be impossible for her to understand Thorin’s position, but if one of her sons had been kidnapped and tried to reach her and their letters stopped…well, she’d be furious and upset.

She hoped the winter was short so her sons could return to her.

#

Frodo set Lóf’s new selections of pottery out on the table and wiped his hands on the smock apron. He had a little bit of clay on his cheek, and likely some in his hair, but otherwise he felt relatively clean.

Lóf even taught him how to make a bowl. He was rubbish at it, but it was still fun and Lóf was very patient. This and his lessons were as close to fun as he had these days.

“You will get up, eat breakfast, go to your classes, have lunch at home, go to your weapons training and after tea you will go straight to Lóf’s until dinner to help him at his shop,” Bilbo had declared the morning after they arrived. Frodo just nodded dutifully and tried to look a little contrite. “Then you come home for dinner and do your at home work for your classes. On weekends, you will go with other apprentice-age Dwarrow to figure out your craft.”

It wasn't fair, but given the scare he had put his father through, Frodo decided it was wiser to simply nod and obey.

“ _Good evening, little burglar_.”

Frodo looked at Bofur and bowed his head.

“ _Good evening to you too, Master Bifur_ ,” he replied politely. “ _Are you better_?”

“ _Good enough to leave the infirmary, at least_ ,” he said, motioning to his arm which was still in a sling. “ _And what about you? Why are you here? I thought you’d at least try forging_.”

“ _Oh. This isn’t the craft I chose. In the past, I’d have this time for the at home work my tutors would give me. That’s after dinner now…Dad wasn’t happy that I joined the battle. So this is my punishment._ ”

“ _Doesn’t seem much of a punishment_.”

Frodo leaned forward. “ _I’m not allowed a lick of free time. Not even to spend with old friends I only see in winter. Well, we see them, but I can’t go out and ‘wreck havoc’ with them._ ”

Bifur laughed. “ _Well, if this isn’t your craft, have you decided on it yet?_ ” Frodo shook his head.

“ _I get to worry about that on weekends. I know this isn’t going to work for me…I keep messing up the clay. And I actually tried woodwork last week, but I almost sliced my thumb off. And then there’s the jeweler’s guild and that didn’t work for me either. I’m trying smithing this weekend and also scrivening. So all in all, I don’t know if I can take a craft. Especially if I won’t be here long enough to put it to practice…I’m only hear for a season after all._ ”

Bifur nodded. “ _Bilbo is a scrivener, isn’t he? And Thorin’s a blacksmith. You may find yourself liking either one of those. Not everyone does, though. For instance, Kili’s a jeweler: the only one in his family. Well, I suppose I should get going. I’m late to meet my cousins._ ”

Frodo nodded. “ _Okay. It was nice seeing you again, Master Bifur_ —”

“You! Halfling!”

Bifur and Frodo turned to the Dwarves approaching them. From the rich colors they wore, they were nobility. They bowed, as is custom, but Frodo ground his teeth. The Dwarf seized his arm and pulled him out from around the stall.

“You were speaking Khuzdul! Who taught you our sacred language?”

“I am half-Dwarf,” Frodo said. “And through the Dwarf blood in me, I have just as much a right to learn Khuzdul as any other Dwarf.”

The Dwarves scowled. “What proof do you have of that, Halfling? You don’t even have a beard yet!”

“And likely never will,” Frodo growled, trying to push him off. “Let me go!”

“ _My lord, I would let him go before someone sees. You do not know who it is you raise a hand against—_ ”

They shoved Bifur aside and he crashed into the table, shattering Lóf’s pottery. Frodo felt anger spark inside him like a wildfire and with a roar, he shoved the Dwarf off and seized one of the wooden poles that Lóf used to beat away passerby.

The Dwarves laughed, finding his attempts humorous and it only enraged Frodo more.

He was pushed back by Lóf and the pole pried out of his hand.

“My lords, what is your quarrel with the boy?” he asked calmly. “Has he offended you in some way?”

“He knows our language. Spoke it freely and openly.”

“And that is so wrong? He is half-Dwarf. His Hobbit parent brought him here so that he could learn the culture of his Dwarf parent.” Frodo calmed down a little bit and went to help Bifur up, patting his back.

“You _actually_ believe that story? He doesn’t look anything like a Dwarf!”

“So you doubt him based on his outward appearance? How about you ask the company of Thorin Oakenshield if you doubt him so much? I’m sure they would _gladly_ vouch for the boy.”

“A company of vagabonds and fools.”

“And if you were noble enough you would say so to my face,” Fili said, approaching them. “The boy is my cousin, the son of Thorin Oakenshield himself.”

Frodo felt his stomach drop. Did Fili—of course he didn’t know. Dad had only told Kili not to mention anything about Frodo’s relation to them.

“And therefore, he outranks you as a prince of Erebor.”

The Dwarves stared at Fili, then at Frodo.

“ _It is true,_ ” Bifur said.

Frodo groaned and Lóf steadied him. This was bad. Very, very bad.

“Ask any of us here,” Fili said. “There are at least _seven_ Dwarves who can vouch for him, apart from Lóf here and Míl, the midwife. Nine Dwarves and if you send word to Thorin, he will also vouch for him.”

Frodo let Bifur go and latched onto Fili.

“No one is supposed to know about me,” he hissed. Fili glanced at him. “Dad said it was for the best.”

“Why—oh. I can guess.” Fili inhaled deeply. “We’ll figure something out, but at least they can’t…”

“I don’t know, Fili, this is bad.”

“He isn’t a prince of Erebor,” another Dwarf spat. “He _can’t_ be! He doesn’t look like a Dwarf!”

“ _Look closely enough and you can see that even though the blood of our Burglar is strong in him, he is, indeed, a near exact copy of  Thorin Oakenshield if he were a Hobbit himself._ ”

Frodo blinked and bit his lip as more Dwarves circled around them, whispering, mumbling, staring…

_Dad is not going to like this. He is not going to like this at all._


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some very bad spelling in this chapter. I promise it's intentional.

Frodo decided to stay out of the way as Bilbo yelled at Fili.

Toward the end of it, he could hear Bilbo muttering about going home and Frodo’s chest ached at the thought. They always spent the winter here and he didn’t want that to stop just because people now knew he was one of Durin’s Folk, never mind that he's a direct descendant of Durin.

Maybe it was for the better, though he didn’t want to thinking about it.

He didn’t know what would happen now that it was out in the open (unless one counted letters and invitations to winter balls that came within a few hours if Fili revealing his identity.

Bilbo had left them on the table and continued shouting at Fili.

But that was a few hours ago now and Frodo hadn’t heard anything for a while. He got out of his desk and crept downstairs. “Dad?”

Bilbo looked up, opening letters and putting others in a pile. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Frodo assured him, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You?”

“Still angry, but you may as well open your mail. Though,” he held up one of his own, “these are not helping my temper.”

“Why? What are they?”

“Oh…party invitations, dinner invitations, courtship inquiries…”

“Courtship inquiries?!”

“You’re a Prince of Durin’s Folk now,” Bilbo muttered. “Even if you are not living in Erebor or involved in its politics, you are still a descendant of Durin and that, apparently, is very advantageous to the nobility and gentry.”

“But I’m with Mac.”

“I doubt they really care about who you’re currently enamored with, Lad,” Bilbo sighed, “but remember to be polite when you tell them you’re in the middle of a courtship all ready.”

“Yes, Dad,” Frodo said obediently as he opened one of his letters and perused it. “Will we be going to the parties?”

“I was thinking it’s going to be hard to hide you now. People will look and they will know exactly who you are, so yes, we will be going to parties. And to dinner. My reasoning is that we get free food,” Bilbo said, grinning.

Frodo returned it. That was a good reason to go if ever there was one. “So politely…well, I can’t say that I have a One. I don’t even know if I’ll ever have the longing.”

“But you _can_ say you’re in a committed relationship,” Bilbo said. “A Dwarf doesn’t need to have a One to be in love and a Hobbit certainly does not need a One.”

Frodo nodded and started to read. He wrinkled his nose. “Who’s Skaggi son of Ragni?”

“No idea. Why?”

“Because he’s waxing poetry about my eyes.” Frodo shuddered as Bilbo threw his head back and laughed. “I don’t think we ever met. Let alone seen each other…”

“Well, maybe when he _does_ see you, he’ll realize you’re not really his type.”

“Here’s to hoping,” Frodo said, picking up another letter and opening it. “This one at least is polite. ‘I would like to offer a hand in friendship.’ I can do that. Far more believable than wanting a courtship.”

“Indeed. Who was that?”

“Duregar son of Hadra.”

“I’m afraid most of these are going to be courtship offers.”

“Here’s to hoping,” Frodo agreed, putting Duregar’s letter in another pile. He figured he’d divide those interested in friendship in a different pile and those who are not in another.

“Frodo,” Bilbo said. “I know it seems all grand right now.”

“More annoying, actually,” Frodo said, setting Freda daughter of Katlin’s letter on top of Skaggi’s.

“True,” Bilbo agreed, “But I’m less worried about _this_ ,” he motioned to the letters littering Míl’s table. “And more about what less savory characters might do when they find out about you.”

“Dad, I won’t get kidnapped. I know how to defend myself.”

“I know you do,” Bilbo took Frodo’s hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t get to you. Even the most skilled warrior can fall prey to thieves in the shadows. And they would kidnap you if they think it could get them a bit of the treasure within Erebor’s halls.”

“I thought that was cursed gold.”

“It might still be, but I don’t know. I’ve not seen it since and to be honest, I don’t want to. But I would not underestimate the greed of others.”

Frodo nodded and waited for Bilbo to release his hand. “Are we going back to the Shire early?”

“No, we will be staying the whole season,” Bilbo said. “Snowed in completely. No one is getting in or out these days.”

Frodo tensed. He grew up on the nightmarish tales of the Fell Winter from long ago and the fear of what happened because of it weighed heavily on his mind. “Dad, isn’t that a bad thing? What if food runs out?”

“It won’t,” Bilbo said. “The storehouses here are very large. I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Frodo didn’t feel assured. Bilbo pinched his chin. “I promise you, it will be all right. The Shire will be all right and so will Ered Luin. It’s just the usual snowfall. Okay?”

Frodo nodded, though he still wasn’t relieved.

#

Three weeks had passed since he sent word to Dis when two ravens arrived at the forge where he had procured some work. There was a short letter from her:

 

> _I know you’re hiding something and I’ll find it out sooner or later. Make it easy on yourself and tell me the truth._
> 
> _The Dwarf who withheld the letters is in custody._
> 
> _Nadad, I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you right now, but I hope you’ll succeed. I would like to meet my brother-son. Expect me to come around the summertime._

Thorin didn’t like the sound of that. Telling Dis he cut his hair would only enrage her and he wouldn’t be able to calm her enough to tell her he cut it himself. But if he worded it right, she might understand…

He set it aside and opened the package. Letters on letters lined up one after another. He leaned against the table, box held in one arm as he thumbed through them.

“Is that them?” Dwalin asked as he stepped inside.

Thorin nodded, not sure if he could trust himself to speak. Dwalin clapped his shoulder.

“Go get something to eat and catch up on some reading,” he said. “I’ve got it here.”

“But—”

“You’re not going to be at peace, let alone useful here, until you read those. So go read them and I’ll hold the fort.”

Thorin nodded and left, returning to the inn, box tucked under his arm.

Once in the room, he sat on the bed and started by organizing them by the date. Easier said than done! It was a mess and by the time he could read them, the sun had set hours ago and he had lit a candle so he could see what was written to him.

 

> _Deer Mistr Thorin_
> 
> _You dont now me but im Frodo Bagins. Bilbo iz mi dade and he sayd yor mi dade to…_

Thorin smiled, weakly, feeling his eyes prickling from unshed tears.

 

> _…dade cris lots but he dosnt now that I now and I dont think he wants any won to now. I think if you were heer hed not cri so much._
> 
> _Ar you going to com home soon?_
> 
> _I want to meet you. Maybe you can com home for our berthday! Dade and I shar the same berthday…_

He set the letter down, swallowing hard.

“Have you eaten?” He looked up at Dwalin and shook his head. Dwalin set a plate in front of him. “How goes the reading?”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Thorin admitted, the first letter still clutched in his hand.

Dwalin took it from his hand carefully and read through it. “Twenty years ago? Quite coherent for a five year old. Or four. Most of our children are still learning their alphabet song then.”

“Hobbits don’t age the same way and he aged like them…make sense he’d know how to spell…a little bit,” Thorin admitted. “They span over about ten years. Then they stopped. I don’t know if I can read the last letter. I don’t know if I can read any of these.”

Dwalin sat on his bed, setting the letter down on Thorin’s bedside table.

“Thorin, I know you. You’d have read that first line and jumped up declaring you were going to the Shire and have been out of the mountain within the next hour if you got this and the rest of the company would’ve scrambled to catch up with you, to hell with what was going through your mind at the time.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Thorin said.

“It matters to you. You’re hurting. Your family is hurting. It might hurt now, but I would read the letters, even the angry ones. Even if you and Bilbo cannot heal whatever hurt there is, at least you can have a relationship with your son. You at least deserve to know the boy.” Dwalin stood. “I’ll get another room. Indefinitely. Eat. Then read the next one. See you at the forge tomorrow.”

Thorin didn’t respond and Dwalin left.

He wiped his eyes and picked up the next letter. It was bulkier than the first. Within was a wooden frame with a drawing inside glued to the wood and leaves used as decoration.

 

> _Deer Mistr Thorin,_
> 
> _Im fiv today!_
> 
> _Dade sayd were going to the party tre latr. I mad you sumthing but I’ll send it ovr if you don’t mak it to the party today…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frodo's supposed to be equivalent to about 2 or 3 by human standards and I wouldn't expect a 3 year old to have ANY grasp of proper grammar and spelling


	23. Chapter 23

“ _Unpracticed, but a strong stroke nonetheless_ ,” Bilbo read, “ _Interested in taking in Frodo son of Bilbo as an apprentice_.” Frodo fidgeted, blushing, and wished Bilbo wouldn’t read the letters aloud. Míl patted his back as he ate his stew. “Well, if nothing else, the Shire could use a blacksmith or two. I mean it wouldn’t be your number one job, of course, but—”

“I’m not sure I want to be a blacksmith, Dad,” Frodo said. Bilbo arched a brow.

“Why not? Because your Sire’s a blacksmith? I’m quite sure he’d be proud to know you’ve the talent for it.” Frodo nodded, it would definitely make Thorin puffed. “Besides, I thought you were starting to warm up to him.”

“I am,” Frodo said. “But its not like we’ve had the chance to exchange letters or anything.” He quieted after, not wanting to bring up the letters he had sent to Thorin behind Bilbo’s back. They’d not discussed it and Bilbo didn’t _seem_ upset by that, but they never actually talked about it.

“You also had scrivening today, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but the master ended up being sick, so he switched with the infirmary. Oin was leading it today.”

“Oh!” Bilbo’s face split into a grin. “And how did that go?”

“Okay,” Frodo said, fidgeting again. Bilbo’s smile dimmed and he held his hand out. “What?”

“I know there’s a letter of approval from him. I saw _two_ ravens this morning, Frodo.” Frodo sighed and lifted off his seat to retrieve the letter. Bilbo opened it and read, thankfully not aloud this time.

“If I know Oin,” Bilbo said, “and I like to think I do, he doesn’t offer praise lightly. _Carries an extensive knowledge of plant life and their medicinal uses_. Of course, no self-respecting Hobbit wouldn’t know the difference between aloe and kingsfoil.”

“Aren’t you still trying to convince the healers that kingsfoil should be reclassified as an herb?”

“It is an herb, but it is also a weed nonetheless. Takes over everything! Not that I’d mind having it in my garden, just not near my tomatoes.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“ _Keeps a good head on him in a crisis_. Now _that_ I’d like to see,” Bilbo teased. Frodo glared at him. “ _Inept at internal organ identification, but can be easily remedied in a few days_. Ah. Well, that certainly sounds more like Oin and I am _not_ surprised. Can’t be good at everything. Still, Oin is interested in taking you on as his _own_ apprentice. I doubt he’d be willing to stay in the Shire though.”

“Would I have to go to Erebor?” Frodo asked, panic washing over him. The beaches of Mithlond were as far as he’d been and even then it was at most a month and a half long journey. Erebor was more than _twice_ that distance and he didn’t think he’d survive out in the wild for that long.

Bilbo rubbed Frodo’s shoulders. “We’ll talk about that more. I’m sure there’s a competent healer in Ered Luin willing to take you on if Oin does decide to return to Erebor. He might, though, being the court physician and all. But if he doesn’t return to Erebor, be ready for the hardest lessons you’ll ever have. Oin prides himself as an excellent healer and I believe he expects his students to surpass him one day. But you need only go to Erebor if you _really_ want to.”

“What about you?” Frodo asked. “Say I do decide to go to Erebor?”

Bilbo sighed. “That I do not know,” he said. “I am welcome there, of course, and I might consider going back there someday. I don’t know if I will, though.” He plastered on another smile. “Still, this is good. I am very proud of you, my boy.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Frodo mumbled.

“Oh, you have an appointment with the tailor tomorrow,” Bilbo said, tucking the letters in his coat. “There’s a party you’re meant to go to in a couple days. I’m afraid I’ve another engagement at the time, but you’ll be there with Fili and Kili at least.”

 _Great_ , Frodo thought, leaning on the table. “Who’s party?”

“Er…ah, of course. I _knew_ it’d be smart to organize them by date.” He handed the invitation to Frodo. It was written on fine stationary and Frodo winkled his nose. Nobles, honestly…so flamboyant.

_You are cordially invited to the House of Lady Sifna Daughter of Trunnis..._

He heard of Lady Sifna. She was an old Dam and other than that, he knew next to nothing about her. She must have been one of the people who heard about Frodo being Thorin’s son and decided she _needed_ to meet him. Never mind that Bilbo was a member of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, they never did think he was important enough.

“Do I have to go?”

“She was quite insistent the other day. Though I doubt she even cared until now, of course,” Bilbo said. “And you will not be going alone. As I said, Fili and Kili will be going with you. It might not be as fun as a Shire party, but at least you won’t be at risk of mucking up like I will.”

“I doubt you could muck up, Dad,” Frodo said. “You’re too _polite_ and _charming_. Those aren’t my words. Many of my instructors describe you that way.” Watching Bilbo sputter cheered Frodo up a little bit and he snickered even though it earned him a cuff to the back of his head.

“How about instead of laughing at your poor dad, you go do your homework,” Bilbo said. Frodo nodded and thanked Míl for dinner before heading upstairs.

“So,” he heard Míl say. “Polite _and_ charming. No _wonder_ you managed to nab the king of Durin’s folk. Pity it went to the dogs.”

“Woman, keep your tongue behind your teeth!” Bilbo snapped in a rather squeaky voice. Míl let out a raucous laugh and Frodo sniggered as he gathered his books and some spare parchment, sitting at his desk and lit a candle.

#

Thorin massaged his forehead at the letter sent by his nephews. They were going to Lady Sifna’s dinner party on Tuesday and Thorin prayed to Mahal that his reckless nephews behaved. He was certain Frodo would be on his best behavior. The whole idea of them going anywhere unsupervised was enough to give him a nasty migraine.

“So, what trouble are they up to this time?” Dwalin said handing him some ale.

“Lady Sifna.”

“Oh. Good luck to them.”

“Aye,” Thorin said. “Though it was a relief to read this rather than Frodo’s.”

“Well, where you’re at his writing has _definitely_ improved.”

“Improved, yes. And angrier. Or sadder. I can’t quite tell which. It’s expected, though. In his place, I’d feel the same. But I dread that last letter. I do not know what to think of it.” Dwalin hummed and Thorin took a drink. “Either way,” he continued. “I am more concerned with present events. Namely what trouble my nephews and son will be causing—”

He and Dwalin turned toward a pair of Men eyeing them, probably sizing them up. “Looks like we might get in a fight.”

“Good,” Thorin said. “I could do with a spar.”

“This wouldn’t be a spar.”

“I don’t bloody care,” Thorin growled, ripping his bread roll with his teeth. “Let them come. By Mordor, I’ll take both of them on.”

Dwalin snorted. “As if I’d let you have all the fun.”

Once they finished their dinner, they went outside, waiting for the Men to follow. Once they came outside, searching for Thorin and Dwalin, Dwalin seized one and roared tossing the Man to the icy floor below as Thorin lunged at the other, latching onto his back and in a chokehold.

The Man seized Thorin’s coat and pulled him off, throwing in a few punches, which Thorin deflected. Dwalin knocked out one Man and the other, now faced with two battle hungry Dwarves, ran off. Dwalin huffed, muttering _coward_ under his breath. He handed a piece of worn parchment to Thorin.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Not something you’ll like.”

Thorin frowned and unfolded the sheet.

 

> _10,000 gold pieces for the son of Thorin Oakenshield brought alive to Weathertop._

Thorin ground his teeth, seeing red. Beneath it was a Westron translation. “I’ll write Bilbo tonight,” he said. “And the company.”

“Perhaps I should go to Ered Luin,” Dwalin said. “Keep an eye on the boy.”

“No. I will need your help weeding out whoever sent this.”

“Thorin, all of Ered Luin now knows of Frodo outside the company and Dis—”

“And whoever kept Frodo’s letters from me. Someone is after him and I need to know who it is and take him down. I need your help.”

Dwalin hummed, arms crossed and frowning. “Outside of Fili and Kili, there are a couple Dwarves I trained that may be able to do the job. What I _don’t_ get though is why these two decided to attack us.”

“Probably to kill us and make sure we _never_ find out about this reward,” Thorin growled, storming back into the inn. “Better to have left us be than attempt anything.”

“Well, they are Men. Not the brightest of the Free Peoples.”

“I’m sure there are some Elves and Dwarves and Hobbits who fit that category as well,” Thorin muttered, approaching the innkeeper to request for parchment, a quill, and some ink.

#

Frodo turned to Bilbo, scowling. “I look ridiculous.”

Bilbo arched a brow, taking in the attire that the tailor had made for Frodo. Black leather breaches that hugged his legs, a white tunic beneath Bilbo’s mithril shirt (the tailor had nearly fainted seeing it), and a long, fur-lined coat over that in Durin blue fabric. The tailor gave Bilbo an unimpressed glare at Frodo’s complaint and pulled the coat off to give him a doublet in the same blue with diamond buttons to hold it closed. Bilbo sighed and readjusted his position in his seat.

“You look Dwarven,” he corrected, deciding _not_ to tell Frodo how eerily similar to Thorin he looked dressed like that. “All you need now is the beard and you’re set.”

“ _Dad…_ ”

“You look _fine_ , Frodo lad,” Bilbo promised. “They aren’t making you wear boots.”

“The pants are tight.”

“I think that’s intentional,” Bilbo said, scratching the back of his head. “Though a little breathing room would do some good.” The tailor nodded, helping Frodo put the cloak back on.

“If you please, Master Baggins, an anklet would do well for his highness.” Frodo and Bilbo winced. “Show off his feet a bit, aye?

“I could wear my winter boots instead.”

“Frodo, you have nice Hobbit feet,” Bilbo said, frowning. “And you hate boots as much as the next Hobbit.”

“But clearly I’m not a Hobbit!” Frodo snapped. The tailor seized his arm and kept him in place, readjusting the arms a bit. Frodo huffed and Bilbo tried not to laugh.

“No, you are half-Hobbit and half-Dwarf. I know it seems odd dressed in Dwarven clothes when you are used to more Hobbit-like attire, but really, Frodo, you do look fine. When Fili and Kili get here, they’ll let you know. I can’t really comment, you know that.”

“I feel like a peacock.”

“You’re a prince of Durin’s Folk now,” Bilbo sighed. “You’ll _have_ to get used to looking like a peacock anyway.” Frodo pouted angrily and Bilbo offered him a sympathetic grin. He really did look more like Thorin dressed like this.

“I think that will do,” the tailor said, removing the coat and doublet. Frodo took off the mithril shirt and handed it back to Bilbo before rushing to the dressing room to change into his usual clothes. Fili and Kili ran in and the tailor arched a brow.

“You missed the show,” Bilbo said. “And we really could’ve used your opinion.”

“Later, then,” Fili said as Kili greeted the tailor. Frodo came out, tunic and pants folded neatly. He thanked the tailor and strode out of the shop. Bilbo chuckled weakly.

“Tweens,” he said. “Most difficult ages to deal with, eh?”

“You should’ve seen these two at that age. Sometimes it seems they never left.” Bilbo laughed at Fili’s and Kili’s protests before going after Frodo, a letter from Thorin tucked in his pockets.


	24. Chapter 24

_I don’t want to believe this,_ Bilbo wrote.

 

> _It feels off just reading it. After all, what fool would write a ransom in Westron of all things? I fear it was meant to deter you and me, Thorin, and would rather you keep caution as a watch dog. I do not doubt that Frodo might be in danger, but I do not think it is entirely what it seems to be, if you get my meaning._
> 
> _Thank you for telling me about this ransom, Thorin. I’ve shown it to Bifur and he promised to speak about it with the guard here, so I’m…well, I’m not sure how to feel about it, to be perfectly honest._

He set the quill down and massaged his forehead, glancing at the ransom note again. He put it aside, deciding if there was more to be said on the matter then he can include it in the next letter, possibly. He picked the quill up again and returned to the letter.

 

> _So he did write you and they were waylaid. Your sister is either very clever or the one who sabotaged Frodo’s attempts to meet you is a great fool! Or both. Either way, I’m glad this mess has been cleared up and I hope you aren’t tearing at what’s left of your hair over them. I think I’d prefer you with a full head of hair, thank you very much._

The corner of his lips quirked in a smile.

 

> _You’d be pleased to know he has not one but two offers from different masters. It is a relief to know that someone thinks he’s got more Dwarf than Hobbit, I suppose (not that I’m complaining. There’s nothing wrong with him being more Hobbit than Dwarf, you know). _
> 
> _Oin may have written you already, but in case he hasn’t, Frodo has the makings of a healer if he’s so inclined. He also could be a blacksmith if he’d like and I feel that, as that is your own craft, he gets that from you. Whether he decides to pursue that or not, I cannot yet tell._
> 
> _I wish you could be here. You would’ve been better help at the tailor’s if nothing else! Goodness, Frodo looks so much like you when in furs. He just needs a beard and he’s as good as a Dwarf! Though I suppose it is an odd sight: seeing a Dwarf with fuzzy feet!_
> 
> _Frodo wanted to wear boots to the party tonight. Perhaps because he’d be the only one there not wearing them. I had to remind him he had Hobbit feet and there’s no shame in that. The tailor even suggested an anklet, so I doubt they’ll find it odd. (Well, they will find it odd, but perhaps accept it?)_

Three steady knocks against Míl’s door was enough to rouse him from his chair, wiping his hands free of ink, Bilbo headed to the door. Once he pulled it open, he arched a brow at Fili and Kili.

“We’re here to pick up a date,” Kili said.

“Perhaps you’ve seen him?” Fili said.

“About so high,” Kili said, raising his hand up to give a rough estimate of Frodo’s height.

“Hair as black as onyx, eyes like sapphire,” Fili said. “Skin like white marble—”

“You realize this is your _cousin_ you’re describing,” Bilbo said, arching a brow.”

“Aye, uncle, we do,” Kili said. “No one told us we can’t appreciate beauty when we see it. Granted, these compliments are not ours. Frodo’s too much like Thorin for us.” He and Fili shuddered exaggeratingly. They followed Bilbo inside and he stood at the bottom of the stairs.

“Frodo!” He called, “Fili and Kili are here.”

This is followed by pounding feet against stairs and Frodo comes down.

“Mahal wept, you weren’t kidding!” Kili wailed on seeing him. “He _does_ look like—”

“A prince of Erebor,” Fili said, clapping his hand over Kili’s mouth.

Frodo crossed his arms and scowled at them. Bilbo wanted to bang his head against a wall. Yavanna help him, why did Frodo have to inherit Thorin’s blasted beauty?! In fact, why did he have to inherit _anything_ from Thorin at all?! At the point, it would only cause more trouble for him than he already has!

“Ready to go?”

“Yes,” Frodo sighed, shoulders dropping. “I’ll see you later, Dad.”

“Don’t bother waking me up when you come home. Just be here for second breakfast. And if you don’t come down those stairs, there will be _words_.”

“Yes, Sir,” Frodo said far too innocently for Bilbo’s liking as he left with Fili and Kili. Maybe he should’ve gone with them…

Bilbo shook his head. Frodo was with Fili and Kili, who, next to Dwalin, were Thorin’s best warriors. They were also Frodo’s kin. It was very unlikely that anyone would be able to get to Frodo tonight…still, Bilbo wondered if he ought to have lent him Sting for the night as a precaution.

 _Now stop that thought right there!_ Bilbo told himself, puttering around the kitchen to make some chamomile tea. _First off: Sting is not a weapon Frodo is ready to even hold let alone use. And second: if anything goes wrong, Fili will have more than enough weapons for all three of them. Yes, remember that and all will be well._

He sat back down and glanced at the letter he wrote Thorin, wondering if there was anything more to add to it. Finding he had nothing more to say, Bilbo pondered at how to conclude the letter. A part of him wanted to say:

 

> _I miss you and wish you were here_.

Except that was a bit presumptuous. True, Thorin held nothing back from him. Not even in his own letter (which was signed off with _all my love_ ) did he hold back how he felt. Bilbo massaged his forehead.

He settled for something less personal, but still familiar.

 

> _All in all, we’ve had no troubles here as of yet and hopefully never will. Still, it is good to know that someone may be after him and I am glad you didn’t keep this from me, Thorin._
> 
> _I look forward to your next letter and hope this whole mess gets cleared up soon. Frodo and I might visit Mithlond if the weather ever lightens up enough for us to come._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Bilbo_

Perhaps a bit more impersonal than he wanted, but honest nonetheless.

He took a biscuit and handed it to the raven Thorin had used to send the letter, petting its feathers and pouring himself a cup of tea. He sat down again and sighed.

He needed it.

#

If nothing else, the coat was at least warm and if he got too cold, he could pull it over his head and sit by the fire with his legs pulled up to his chin. He stood between Fili and Kili, arms looped together and feeling much like a very awkward tether as they strode to Lady Sifna’s house.

One there, they were greeted by a porter who looked at them over his big nose.

“Fili and Kili sons of Dis,” Fili said.

“Frodo son of Bilbo—or Thorin,” Frodo said, cheeks tinging at the slip. They’d probably consider him Thorin’s son anyway, absent or not. The porter bowed and let them enter. Frodo kept close to Fili and Kili, nerves jumbled and jittery.

A servant bowed to them, beard touching his toes, and led them to a dining room. There were Dwarrow and Dwarrowdams all of marriageable ages. All single, likely.

“Presenting their royal highnesses: Prince Fili, Prince Kili, and Prince Frodo of Erebor,” another servant announced. The chatter died and eyes turned on them, Frodo almost stumbled through his bow, grinding his teeth. He was _not_ from Erebor and would prefer not to be mislabeled such.

_But your sire is the king of Erebor, so wouldn’t that make you a prince of Erebor, even if you’ve never seen the Lonely Mountain before?_

Several came up and kissed their hands and while Fili and Kili showed more finesse than Frodo, it was still quite obvious they weren’t used to the attention.

“Ah, the princes of Erebor!” an elderly Dam shouted, embracing Fili and Kili each with a peck on their cheeks. She held a goblet in her hand. “How you’ve matured! And this is the son of Thorin?”

Frodo nodded, wishing he had the foresight to steal his dad’s ring. He might hate it, but he’d rather have it for these incidents than for what he was allowed to wear it for. The Dam embraced him and kissed his cheeks, smelling faintly of mead all ready.

She stepped back and arched a brow at him. “My, you’re as handsome as your father the king.”

“But not as rude, I hope,” Frodo said, defaulting to the guarded politeness he had seen Bilbo use when dealing with someone he deemed rather unpleasant or untrustworthy. He gave her a kind grin. “Forgive me, Madam, but I didn’t catch your name. Are you Lady Sifna?”

“I am.”

Frodo bowed. “Thank you for inviting me to your home, my lady.”

“Well, aren’t you polite,” she said. “Please, mingle! Enjoy yourselves, your highnesses. The night is young yet.” They bowed again and she moved off to greet the next unsuspecting youth. Frodo slumped his shoulders and gave Fili a pleading look.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, patting his shoulder. “You’re stuck here. Still it’s a good thing that Bilbo raised you and not Thorin. He’d likely have said something to get himself kicked out by now.”

Frodo snickered. “He does seem more like the bar-hopping type than high society. Despite being a king, if you know what I mean.”

“He is,” Kili said, laughing. “He and Dwalin usually came home in the wee hours from bar hopping. Mum would get so angry…”

“Either way, you’re doing fine so far. It’s just a few more hours,” Fili patted his shoulder and Frodo whimpered at the mere mention of _hours._

“This is torture.”

“Think of it this way,” Fili said. “You’re not the only one suffering.”

“I’m the one being stared at!” Frodo said, glaring at a few onlookers. One of the Dwarrow gave him a cocky grin and blew a kiss his way. Frodo shuddered. “And I’m in a committed relationship,” he muttered.

“If anyone gives you trouble, just get me or Kili,” Fili said. “We’re your chaperones tonight, after all.” They approached the table with the others and sat down in designated place settings Frodo sat to Fili’s right, and Fili was seated across from Fili.

“It’s arranged by rank,” Fili explained. “The host or hostess sits at the front of the table and to her right are the higher ranking nobles.”

“Normally, I’d be in your spot,” Kili said, pointing a knife at Frodo.

“But you outrank me, don’t you?”

“Not necessarily,” Fili said. “I’m crown prince and Kili is next in line, but you are Thorin’s heir by blood. It’s expected that you have a right to throne before Kili even though I’m still the crown prince.”

“It’s not like any of us really care,” Kili said. “I don’t really want the responsibilities that come with being King. Too hectic for me. Too complicated.”

Lady Sifna sat at the head of the long table and the feast began. Frodo ate relatively neatly despite how much food actually flew through the air. He sighed at his so called “peers” antics. He didn’t know these Dwarrow and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to yet.

Especially when the Dwarrow from before (and a couple others) kept sending him flirtatious glances.

 _I’ll just stick close to Fili,_ he decided, dipping a bread roll into the hot soup before him.


	25. Chapter 25

Frodo kept to the wall, hoping to remain invisible while the guests danced. He hoped to remain invisible, but it proved impossible when several Dwarves kept glancing at him when near enough. He had yet to be asked and therefore had no reason to turn anyone down.

“Your highness,” someone said, touching his shoulder. The Dwarf that had been sending him glances all night held his hand out. “Would you grace me with a dance?”

“Considering you’ve been eying me like meat all night, I’d rather not,” he said, shifting away from him.

“It’s just a dance.”

“And your hands are likely wandering ones, I take it,” Frodo snarled.

“Is there a problem?” Fili asked. “Skaggi?” Skaggi stepped back.

“No. There’s no problem.” Frodo didn’t grace that with a reply of his own. Nor did he need to as Skaggi fled, muttering about getting more mead.

“Thank you,” Frodo said.

“Yeah…just, I’d keep my distance from him. Kili and I don’t like the way he’s been eying you tonight.”

“If you don’t like it, how do you think _I_ like it?”

“Not an ounce. How about you dance with the more polite Dwarves here? I’ll introduce you. It’s awfully dull just sitting in the corner. Don’t you think?”

Frodo hummed and nodded, taking Fili’s hand and letting himself be led on the dance floor. “If you tread on my toes—”

“May I burn in Mahal’s forge,” Fili said. “I’d not dream of it, little cousin. Besides, I’d get used to unwanted attention. It’s not going away any time soon.”

“It’s annoying. I have Mac back home.”

“I know, but they don’t. Cut them some slack, if they do anything you aren’t comfortable with, you are completely capable of telling them you’re not comfortable with it. Mentioning Mac wouldn’t hurt either. That way they know you’re taken. A Dwarf will respect that.”

“Even Skaggi?”

“Yes. Even Skaggi. I admit he won’t like it, but he’ll back off.”

“He’s an ass.”

“He is an ass,” Fili agreed, laughing.

“What about you and Kili?” Frodo asked. “I hadn’t heard whether or not you two…”

“Ah. There’s this…thing going on among the Tri-kingdoms where we’re debating how best to strengthen alliances. Several are thinking marriage. So far all three kings have said no, but there’s only so much to be done about that.”

Frodo frowned. “Meaning?”

“Well, Kili’s already in a relationship with an Elf of Mirkwood—the captain of the King’s Guard, in fact—so there’s debate whether or not to have Prince Legolas marry one daughter of the King of Esgaroth and me the other. So far we’ve done well without and as kind as Sigrid and Tilda are, neither sister is my type.”

“Ah. But wouldn’t that mean that any child begotten from such relationships be mixed blood? Wouldn’t that cause trouble with succession? I mean, I would expect Durin’s folk to want a pure-Dwarf as their king.”

“Well, that was a think of the past and it is true that I and Kili are pure-Dwarf too, but you are also a Son of Durin and have the right to the throne just as much as I and Kili do. Perhaps more because you are the son of the king and the two of us are sister-sons.”

“I see,” Frodo said slowly. “So I’ve a right to the throne even if purists do not like it.”

“Exactly.”

“So any child you and Kili beget will have that right whether it’s wanted or not.”

“By the law of our king Thorin the Second Oakenshield, yes,” Fili said. “I know you won’t want it, but it doesn’t mean you don’t have that right and I doubt anyone would be able to stand in your way if you so choose to take the throne. Look at them.” Frodo looked around the dance floor. “Many of them have treated you with respect as a Half-Dwarf. They do not care about your blood. Only that you are a prince of Erebor. That is enough for them to want you.”

“But the question is not whether I am wanted, but whether they are,” Frodo said. “And they are not.”

“For now,” Fili said. “Whether or not Mac is your One has yet to be decided. You won’t know for sure if he’s who you are meant to spend the rest of your life with till then.”

The song ended and Fili switched partners with another Dwarf who blushed terribly and couldn’t quite meet Frodo’s eyes. But other than his nervousness, he was kind and polite. The only thing he managed to say clearly was a compliment about Frodo’s eyes and how they remind him of sapphires. Sweet and acceptable, but Frodo couldn’t help throwing in a reference to Mac who likened them to the color of cornflowers.

#

Thorin picked up the last letters and his fingers trembled as he opened it. He glanced at Dwalin, who nodded and stepped out with a quick murmur of “take heart.”

Once the door closed, Thorin began to read:

_Thorin,_

_Dad told me about that day._

_Please, tell me it was a misunderstanding. Tell me it’s not like the way Dad remembers it. I need both versions of this tale to understand why you’d try to kill him._

_Is this why you never respond? Is this why you won’t come to the Shire?_

_Do you hate Dad so much that you don’t even want me?_

After that, the letter had become almost illegible, whether from an increasingly furious scrawl to places where Frodo’s tears had landed on the paper. Thorin stood and gathered some of the leftover parchment from when he wrote Bilbo about the ransom.

_Frodo,_

_Your letters were found. They were kept hidden from me by those who would wish you and your dad ill. It was not on purpose I had not responded. My sister sent them to me and I had taken the time to read them. And now that I have, there are a number of things that need to be addressed:_

_Nidoyel, I have always loved your father. Even in the height of my madness, I loved him. And I know now that when he stole the Arkenstone, he was intending to do what he felt was right for me and for the company. At that time, I did not understand that and my heart was broken._

_It does not excuse me and I had stayed away, ashamed by my actions. And when the madness passed, I asked for him, hoping to make amends for it. I knew it was likely—and still very much is—that your dad would never trust me as he used to and I was willing to accept that if only he would stay and try to forgive me. He stole away in the night instead._

_I was upset when I learned he left, but accepted it as my punishment for transgressing against him. I did not write because I believed he would not respond and if he did, I was loathe to read it for fear of learning that he hated me._

_Mizimith, do not ever think that I could hate you or your dad. You perhaps know that now. I could not hate him if I wanted to. And you are the greatest gift a Dwarf could ask for. You’re a smart lad, Frodo, and a passionate one. I regret not being there to watch you grow up, but I can see that your Dad did a fine job raising you. I could not ask for a better son._

_I swear to you, if these letters had not been waylaid, I would have come to the Shire much sooner. However, I admit that given their timing, I cannot say that our situation would not be messier than it is now. As it is, I am here and I have no intention of leaving and now can see the sights you have long told me of in the letters you sent._

_I would love to see the fireflies on the lake and I would like to see Gandalf’s fireworks set off across the River. At this time in your life, you will be gaining an apprenticeship with someone soon and I am sure you’ve found a craft to take up by now._

_I could not be there to watch you grow up, but I will be here to help you find your way through adulthood, if you would let me. As angry as you are with me, Frodo, I am proud to call you my son and Erebor will be glad to call you their prince._

_Truly,_

_~~Adad~~ _

_Thorin_

#

“Did you see his face when he tripped?” Kili cackled as the three of them returned to Míl’s house. “He looked like a fish!”

Frodo leaned against him, gasping for air between laughs. His face muscles hurt and tears streaked his face. They didn’t walk in a straight line—too much mead—and Fili was belting a bawdy song at the top of his voice.

“Blub, glub,” Frodo said, sending him and Kili into a giggling, drunken mess. “But…but you know. He _deserv-ed_ it. He touched my butt.”

“Not that there’s much butt there to touch,” Kili said. Frodo giggled. They stumbled into the house and Fili ran into the table in his haste to get in.

“No, there is not much butt on Frodo’s butt,” he agreed, “Out of the three of us, I’ve the best butt. That’s why I’m gonna be king, you know.”

“What in Yavanna’s name is going on?” Bilbo hissed, coming down the stairs. “People are trying to sleep. And why are you comparing _tushes_?” All three of them burst into giggles. Bilbo shook his head. “Are you three _drunk_?”

“Weeeee had lots of meeeaaad,” Kili slurred, laying on the table.

Frodo latched onto Bilbo. “Daddy!” Bilbo sighed and patted Frodo’s head.

“Come on, you lug,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed. You’ll be in pain in the morning.”

“What’s a lug?” Frodo asked. Bilbo sighed and helped him into bed. “Is it a name?”

Bilbo pushed a few curls out of Frodo’s face and kissed his forehead. “Don’t worry about it now, Lad. Get some rest.”

“Okay, Dad.”

Once certain he’d sleep soundly, Bilbo went down to greet the brothers, hands on his hips. “I take it you had lots of fun tonight?”

“Oh, yeah,” Fili said.

“Lots.”

“Good. Cuz you’ll be complaining in the morning. Come on, let’s get you two to bed.”

“Can we sleep with you, Uncle Bilbo?”

“No.”


	26. Chapter 26

As one raven flew off to send Thorin news of Frodo’s apprenticeship offers, another arrived and cawed, alerting Bilbo to another letter.

He offered the bird something to drink and took the letter, noticing that Frodo’s name was scrawled in Thorin’s hand. He hummed and put it aside for when Frodo was awake.

Last he checked, the boys were still asleep. But not for much longer.

Kili came downstairs complaining of a headache. Bilbo helped him in a seat, gave him some water which he told Kili to sip at and that he could have the greasiest Hobbit-breakfast known to Hobbit-kind. Kili thanked him for that and as Bilbo took to Míl’s stove, he complained about Bilbo being too loud (he wasn’t). Frodo came down after, looking just as haggard.

“Has anyone invented spectacles that protect your eyes from the light yet?” he asked.

Bilbo handed him his own glass of water and massaged his shoulders. “Not yet, lad. When you’re head’s not splitting open, you can invent them. I bet they’ll be well loved in Hobbiton,” he said.

“Dad, talk quieter.” Again, he wasn’t being loud. “Am I in trouble? For drinking?”

“I think the hangover’s punishment enough. Don’t you?” Frodo nodded and sipped his water. Bilbo shook his head, trying not to laugh. Poor boys didn’t know what hit them. At least Frodo had the excuse of not having enough tolerance.

What was Fili’s and Kili’s excuse?

Bilbo decided to leave it alone. The way Kili and Frodo groaned was enough reason for him to let it slide. He put two plates in front of them filled with eggs, bacon, and hash browns. They mumbled their thanks and began to eat. Bilbo wasn’t sure if he ought to expect Fili any time soon. For now, he chose to leave it be and let Fili join them on his own. At least Frodo was awake. As for Kili, well…Bilbo chalked that up to will power.

“I’ll send word to your instructors,” Bilbo said. “Let them know you’re taking a sick day.”

“Really?” Frodo asked, the hope in his voice nearly sent Bilbo laughing.

“Really,” he said. “I think given your state, you’re more likely to vomit all over the desk, so excuse me for deciding you’re better off resting at home. However, the same rules still apply. I want you doing homework when you’re able and I’ll be collecting today’s course work for you to catch up on later.”

“Yes, Dad,” Frodo moaned before stuffing a bacon strip in his mouth.

“That’s a tad harsh, isn’t it?” Kili said.

“He’s only here for a quarter of the year as it is,” Bilbo said.

“He’s behind, then?”

“Not really,” Frodo said. “Since my growing rate is like a Hobbit’s, I learn things at a faster rate and understand them better. Most Dwarves equivalent to how old I am now have already completed their elementary studies and go into the workforce or an apprenticeship.”

“Ah.”

“Speaking of apprenticeship…”

“Not smithing,” Frodo said. “I know that much, but I don’t know if medicine is the right fit for me.”

“Now when you say ‘no smithing’ do you mean…”

“At all. I may be good at it, but my _hands_ _hurt_ afterwards. I’m not talking about just burns and nearly shattering my thumb—”

“ _What_?!” They winced and glared at Bilbo. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, Dad, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, that’s part of the learning experience,” Kili said. “But doesn’t mean it stops hurting. When it stops hurting then you _really_ need a healer. Fili and I grew up listening to Thorin bite out curse words. It was kind of funny.”

Bilbo glared at Kili before looking at Frodo. “Healer, then?”

“I think so. There’s a couple other possibilities, including scrivening. We haven’t heard from them yet.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be a fine scribe.”

“I kind of don’t want to do that full time…”

“Well, being a healer would be interesting,” Bilbo said. “After your apprenticeship here, you can study under the Elves in Rivendell as well as in the Shire…I’m sure we could find a healer in Bree to teach you a trick or two—”

“Dad, please don’t plan my life out,” Frodo said, pouting. Bilbo sighed.

“I’m not. It’s up to you.” Frodo nodded and turned back to his food. Bilbo picked up the envelope and handed it to him. “For when you’re up to reading,” he said. “I’ll be back with your homework.”

Frodo scrunched his nose up, but did not protest otherwise as Bilbo left.

#

Once Bilbo had left, Frodo picked up the envelope. The scrawl was unknown to him. At first guess, he would say it was from one of his new and very much unwanted suitors.

But “best not be rude,” as Bilbo often muttered to himself when surrounded by unpleasant or unwelcome company.

He opened the envelope and reviewed the letter. Kili mumbled he was going to go back to bed, squeezed Frodo’s shoulder, and went back upstairs, leaving Frodo in a half stunned state.

 

> _Your letters were found. They were kept hidden from me by those who would wish you and your dad ill. It was not on purpose I had not responded…_
> 
> _I have always loved your father. Even in the height of my madness, I loved him…_
> 
> _I knew it was likely—and still very much is—that your dad would never trust me as he used to and I was willing to accept that if only he would stay and try to forgive me…_
> 
> _I did not write because I believed he would not respond and if he did, I was loathe to read it for fear of learning that he hated me…_
> 
> _I could not ask for a better son…_
> 
> _I swear to you, if these letters had not been waylaid, I would have come to the Shire much sooner…_
> 
> _I am here and I have no intention of leaving and now can see the sights you have long told me of in the letters you sent…_
> 
> _I could not be there to watch you grow up, but I will be here to help you find your way through adulthood, if you would let me. As angry as you are with me, Frodo, I am proud to call you my son…_

He set it down, wondering how much of it he could believe before remembering that Thorin was the sort of Dwarf who didn’t exactly do things by half in order to get his point across and a lot of the problems between him and Bilbo had been…culture clash and miscommunication at most.

Bilbo didn’t really understand the significance of Thorin cutting his hair, but Frodo did. When he saw _that,_ he understood. He knew and in that moment he was glad he was raised in both cultures.

Oh, he’d never grow his own hair out. Too curly. Long enough for a small braid, sure, but as long as Dwarf’s? No. Too much hassle. Still, he knew what Thorin was meaning to say. Bilbo might’ve thought it manipulative, but that was not the gesture at all and if it was, well, why would Thorin sacrifice his hair?

He wouldn’t.

This wasn’t a way to twist someone’s arm. Not his and not Bilbo’s.

Frodo looked at the letter again.

_I could not ask for a better son…I am proud to call you my son._

Why? He’d been awful to him since they met!

He cleared the table and washed the dishes before gathering parchment and ink to write his reply…and what would he say?

A part of him felt that his dad should take a look at it, too. Frodo cast the idea aside for now, deciding to ask first. It was likely this letter was meant for his own eyes only and he wasn’t so foolish as to let someone who was not the recipient look at another’s letter.

Well, either way, he ought to respond. If only to let Thorin know he got the letter.

 

> _Thorin,_
> 
> _Who would, as you say, wish Dad and me ill? We’ve been in the Shire where no one save the company would know of Dad, if not me. We were no threat. I don’t want to be a king or a prince or anything like that. I’m content as I am._ _Either way, at least I know why you never wrote me nor came to the Shire. I can’t be angry if they never got to you as intended, so I will let it go. ~~I still wish you and Dad could've worked through it.~~_
> 
> _I don’t understand why the Arkenstone was so valued and for a long time, Dad and I just assumed you valued gold more than us, so I’m confused._ _Why would Dad’s thievery of it (I know stealing is wrong) hurt you as much as you make it seem? It’s just a stone. It isn’t living or breathing or…I just don’t understand it’s value, I suppose._ _I will not absolve you of your guilt. You’re right to feel ashamed for what you did to him then. I don’t know if he’ll forgive you for that. I don’t know if I can, personally. I haven’t decided._
> 
> _But, when you said you asked for him so you could apologize, does that mean you wanted to get past what happened?_
> 
> _I still don’t trust you, much, you see, but I just want to understand. If you wanted to get past it, you should’ve written anyway. Maybe things would’ve been better between you and him then. Your bollocks at communicating with him, you know._
> 
> _You missed the fireflies this year. And Gandalf doesn’t come by as often as you think. We’re lucky if he pops by every five years._
> 
> _And I’m thinking of apprenticing under a healer. I haven’t decided for sure and I’ve still options to look at, but there is always a demand for healers and I can work with plants._
> 
> _For the most part, I don’t know how to respond to your letter more than I already have._
> 
> _If you loved Dad as much as you say, why didn’t you come anyway? Yes, it’d be messy, but I’d fight for Mac if need be. Why didn’t you?_
> 
> _I think Dad should see your letter. The one you sent me, but not unless you’re okay with him seeing it._
> 
> _Till later,_
> 
> _Frodo_

It wasn’t perfect, but it would do for now. While the ink dried, he put his own letter back in his room, gave the crow some ham and went to try and make it seem like he’s put together.

He certainly didn’t feel like it today.


	27. Chapter 27

He readjusted the bag strapped to his shoulder, trying to ignore the feeling that strongly hinted that he was being followed. He glanced over his shoulder, frowning. There didn’t seem to be anyone, but after befriending Nori, he knew there was always a possibility of being followed, even when you think you’re _not_ being followed.

He couldn’t shake this feeling that someone was watching him. Bilbo huffed and quickened his pace. At least Sting was a comforting weight against his hip. He pulled it free just a touch. No glow. Of course there would be no _glow_. They weren’t anywhere near Goblins or Orcs.

 _Bilbo Baggins, you are being paranoid. Get a grip_!

Still, it wouldn’t do to ignore the feeling completely. Just because his pursuer was not an Orc did not mean whoever it was, was not friendly. Bilbo turned sharply to his right and down an alley. He dropped the bag and leaned against the wall.

A dwarf ran down the alley, passing him completely. Bilbo pulled Sting free and pressed the tip against the Dwarf’s neck. He froze. “Why are you following me?”

The Dwarf turned around and seized Bilbo’s wrist, disarming him and slamming him against the wall. Bilbo gasped, feeling quite winded. The Dwarf pressed his arm against Bilbo’s throat. It wasn’t tight; he could still breathe, but Bilbo couldn’t quite shake him off.

“Where’s the boy?” he demanded. Bilbo blinked.

“Do you _really_ think I’d tell you where to find my son? Are you daft?”

The Dwarf smirked. “Worth a try, nonetheless.” He slammed his fist into Bilbo’s stomach and dropped him Bilbo clutched his stomach, heaving. He felt he was going to vomit. The Dwarf’s boot collided with his head, there was a flash of pain, and then all went black.

#

Frodo made himself elevensies. He shared luncheon with his cousins, frowning at the clock on the mantelpiece. His dad should’ve been home before midday. It wouldn’t take that long to get his school work and the like.

Kili said to relax.

Fili promised they’d look for him if he wasn’t back by tea.

With little else but to accept this, Frodo huffed and watched the fire. His cousins seemed a little worried, but what pulled him out of his reverie was a blatant lie:

“He looks a bit like Thorin when he does that.”

Frodo turned his head toward Kili. “I don’t look like him! Or act like him! Or—”

“Keep telling yourself that, Frodo,” Kili said, smirking. “Look, it’s almost tea time. Do you want to go after or before?”

“Before,” Frodo said, standing. “I can’t stand waiting any longer.”

He grabbed his cloak and clasped it. He glanced at his cousins, who sighed and asked him to wait just a little longer while they put their shoes on before their cloaks. Frodo took the time to put the fire out and then they left for the school halls.

Frodo paused, glancing down every road he could…in case Bilbo had just been held up. He saw his school bag and ran for it. Fili followed him.

“Will you not run off like that?”

“My bag,” he said, lifting it. “Dad took it with him.” Fili took it and looked through it.

Kili seized Frodo’s shoulders and pulled him back. “Fili, the ground. That’s blood.”

“M-my dad’s?” Frodo asked, biting his lip.

“We don’t have any way to tell,” Fili said.

“But it has to be! If it wasn’t, he’d have come home!”

Kili hushed him. “Frodo, you need to keep calm. We’ll find Bilbo, okay? We’ll find him. Believe it or not, your dad’s stronger than he seems. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“How do you know?”

Kili opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He glanced at Fili, who shook his head.

“I’m afraid we don’t,” he said. “We just have to hope. Kili, take Frodo to the guard house and let them know Bilbo’s missing. I’ll write Thorin.”

Frodo bit his lip, resisting the urge to bit out that he didn’t think Thorin would care. He knew better now, but he guessed he’d need time for his idea of his sire to shift. Kili guided Frodo out of the alley and led him to the guard house. Frodo pulled his hood over his head. He didn’t want to be gawked at right now.

“We’ll find him, Frodo,” Kili said, squeezing his shoulder. “I promise we will.”

“Save your promises,” Frodo muttered. He didn’t know if Kili heard him, nor did he care, but to be honest, Frodo couldn’t bring himself to care if Kili heard him or not. He was more scared than he wanted to admit. The rest of the walk was silent and once at the guard house, Kili spoke with the commander, who kept sending glances Frodo didn’t like in his direction.

The commander bowed and barked commands in Khuzdul to the others.

“He’s assembling a task force to see if they can find out where Bilbo might’ve gone or was taken to,” Kili said. “It’s the best we can do for now. In the meantime, I think we should get out of Belegost.”

“What? Why?”

“Frodo, Bilbo was likely taken by a Dwarf. The company will protect you, but no one will be able to protect you better than Thorin.”

Frodo shook his head. “I’ll be fine with Lóf or Míl,” he said. Kili shook his head.

“They are great, I agree, but they are _not_ the Company. Whoever went after Bilbo would know who he is. They’ll target us and it may be so they can get to you. Like it or not, Thorin will protect you better than the rest of us. No one better and you know it.”

With a huff, Frodo nodded. He hugged his knees. “But the pass…is it safe? I thought we were snowed in.” Kili ran his hand through his hair.

“We don’t have much of a choice, now, do we?” Frodo hid his face and chewed his lip as tears slid down his face. Kili embraced him. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “You’ll see.”

“No it won’t. Not until Dad’s back. I want Dad,” Frodo wept, hiccupping. Kili stroked his curls.

“Your dad’s strong, Frodo. If anyone can get through this, it’s Bilbo Baggins.” Frodo sucked in a breath through his mouth, hating how much like a fauntling he must seem.

#

Oin, Bifur, and Balin stayed behind. The cold wouldn’t do well for their old bones and they’d make sure the guards kept investigating. They pushed through the snow downward toward the city at the hill. They didn’t stop at night, agreeing that wouldn’t do them any good and likely would only make them freeze.

Pressing on this way was miserable and Frodo was dreadfully uncomfortable the whole way to the city. While he wanted to complain about it, he swallowed it down and pressed on, often finding himself huddled between his cousins.

By morning the second day, they were stiff, tired, irritable and almost there. An hour or two later, they were seated around a fire at the inn and suffered Dwalin and Thorin yelling at them for being insane enough to venture out of the mountain in this weather before they could explain anything.

Dwalin and Thorin exchanged glances after that.

“I’ll organize something down here,” he said. “I doubt they’d come with the snow being as it is, but if these idiots are willing to risk it.”

“You do that,” Thorin said before approaching the innkeeper to get two more rooms.

Frodo huddled closer to the fire, still shivering and trying to warm his toes. Thorin returned a few moments later with some of the servers who carried basins filled with steaming water.

“For your feet,” they said, setting them down on the floor.

Thorin took a seat beside Frodo and stared at his hands. “The journey wasn’t too…difficult, was it?”

Frodo shook his head. “We came as fast as we could.”

“No snowfall?”

“A mild one in the middle of the night, but nothing perilous, thankfully…”

Thorin hummed. “Would you be all right sharing a room with me?” Frodo looked at him. “Or would you rather share with Bofur or one of your cousins?”

“I’m all right with it,” Frodo said.

Thorin’s shoulders sagged and there was a bit of relief in his posture. Frodo sneezed, shivering. He hoped he didn’t get sick on top of everything else that was happening. He sniffed as Thorin told Bofur he’d be bunking with Dwalin for the time being.

Dwalin wouldn’t be back till later, but in the meantime, his things were already moved and Thorin took Frodo up to the bedroom, a maid put a bed heater under the mattress and Frodo was left alone to dress in some dry clothes and got into bed.

#

Thorin massaged his forehead, tempted—far too tempted—to drink. The lingering echo that Frodo would need him to be sensible kept him from completely divulging in the temptation to drink and he focused on eating dinner instead.

No one else had come down for the meal and he worried that the cold and wet had in fact gotten them sick. He wouldn’t be surprised if it did. Walking through the weather like that would get to any of them. Dwalin returned and approached him.

“The guards will be keeping an eye out and I’ll be investigating on my own,” he said. “We’ll find our burglar, Thorin. Where is everyone?”

“In bed,” Thorin said. “Probably already fighting off a cold. Hopefully just a cold.”

Dwalin hummed and reached for the biscuit. Thorin stabbed the table between the biscuit and Dwalin’s fingers. “It’s for Frodo,” Thorin snarled. “Unlike someone, I think if he has more need for sweets right now.” Dwalin crossed his arms and pouted.

“Not sure that’d be a good enough comfort since Bilbo is missing.”

“You think I don’t know that? I don’t know what I can and cannot do right now.”

“Same as you’ve done for your nephews,” Dwalin said. “You’re his father, too. Don’t see why you shouldn’t rise to the task just because the lad’s got issues. Right now, you’re the closest kin he has. And whether he’s ready to say it or not, we all know he’s getting closer to forgiving you.”

Thorin nodded and massaged his forehead. “I suppose,” he said. “I don’t like staying here. I need to find Bilbo—”

“He will be found. But remember what his letter said: whoever is after Frodo might by after you instead. First the ransom note, and now Bilbo’s kidnapping. I know we haven’t been in touch with Bilbo in a while, but I don’t doubt his observation skills. He’s a smart bastard if nothing else. They might be after you, Thorin. As your guard, I’m saying it’s safer to stay with your son.”

He stood, the wrapped biscuit in his hand. “Just so you know, I had you switch rooms with Frodo. Bofur’s room is just across from mine.”

Dwalin muttered curses under his breath, but otherwise didn’t complain. Thorin dragged his feet up the stairs and entered the room. Frodo was coughing and sniffling and he looked at him from under the covers. Thorin set the biscuit down.

“Feeling better?” Frodo shook his head. “Hungry?” He shook his head again. Thorin nodded. That wasn’t good. “Broth in the morning,” Thorin said. “And I’ll see if a healer can come take a look at you later.” Frodo nodded and sneezed violently.

Thorin breathed deeply, squeezing Frodo’s shoulder. “Try to sleep.” He got another nod before the covers were pulled over Frodo’s head. Thorin turned the lamp light off and went to bed, hiding his eyes behind his forearm and ground his teeth in hopes of stemming the tears welling in his eyes.

_Mahal, Bilbo, where are you?_


	28. Chapter 28

He wiggled his nose. It ached, but aching was better than twinging, gnawing pain. It still shot throughout his head, making his head pound. His mouth was covered in cloth, gagging him.

He breathed through his pained nose gently and looked around. He was in a cave of some sort. Dwarves were huddled around a table with gold pieces and playing cards. Sting rested against the wall with a couple chests.

 Bilbo wriggled. His hands and feet were bound in what he guessed were shackles. He eased into a sitting position to see the chains around his muddied feet. His hands were bound behind his back and he looked around to make sure he wasn’t noticed.

They had their backs to him.

Bilbo took a deep breath, urging himself to calm down, laying back down on his side and hunched into a fetal position till he could slip his hands under his bum, past the back of his knees and under his feet.

“Well looks like Halflings aren’t halfwits,” a Dwarf sneered, approaching Bilbo. His companions laughed and he seized Bilbo’s arm, pulling him up. “You hungry, Halfling? Need to shit?”

Bilbo latched onto the Dwarf’s tunic and rammed his head into his.

In hindsight, this worked better on other Hobbits and Men than it did Dwarves, but Bilbo didn’t quit remember that till he was dropped and the Dwarves were laughing at his attempt at damaging the Dwarf that still held him up.

“She’s spunky, at least,” another Dwarf cackled.

“Oh, the Halfling’s a _he_ , all right,” a third said.

Bilbo recognized him as the Dwarf that had attacked him in the alley.

“Even if he can push a babe out of his belly. He’s strong, stupidly brave too.”

“Really? That’s interesting.”

“Oi! No one touches the Halfling,” the first Dwarf said. “You know the rules: you don’t touch another Dwarf’s mate. Especially not a king’s mate, no matter how Elf-pretty it is.”

“Pity that,” a third laughed. “But once we’ve gotten what we want, the Shire’s full of Halflings like him, right? Can’t we be willing to try for curiosity’s sake?”

“Aye. But not till we get what we want.”

The Dwarf dragged Bilbo to the wall and latched the chain connecting his bound hands to a hook, dangling Bilbo off the ground.

“We’ll send word to Oakenshield in three days. If he’s smart, he’ll comply if he wants his Halfling bedwarmer back.”

Bilbo ground his teeth and kicked his bound feet, perhaps looking a bit more like a bound fish than he’d like, but there was little else he could do about that. The Dwarves ignored him and he kept wiggling around until his limbs were heavy.

He bowed his head, blinking back angry, frustrated tears. Frodo would be worried. The company, Míl, Lóf…they’d all be looking for him sooner or later. Perhaps they already were. His hope was that Frodo would not do anything rash in his fear. He had his cousins, so he should be fine. Fili and Kili might not be the most responsible lads Bilbo knew, but he trusted them enough with his son.

“Stop struggling, you’re just making it harder on yourself,” a fourth Dwarf snapped.

“Let him flail. He’s not going anywhere. And at the very least, it’s entertaining to watch him try.”

Bilbo glared at them. He bought time from trolls, killed Orcs, bested Gollum at riddles, escaped Goblins, and robbed a dragon.

Well, two dragons if one counted Thorin in the flux of his gold-madness.

If these thieves believed they were likely to use him as bait, belittle his achievements to nothing more than a “bedwarmer,” they certainly didn’t know anything about Hobbits. Especially when it came to getting between them and the people that they love.

#

Frodo slept for most of the day, interrupted by the occasional sneeze and hacking cough. He wasn’t the only one who found himself bedridden. Fili and Kili were also fighting a head cold, and Thorin was reminded of Bilbo’s illness in Laketown as he went from all three of them, making sure they ate, drank fluids, and whatever else. It was tiring and somehow relaxing at the same time. If not for when Frodo started vomiting and it became prerogative that he try to keep liquids down, drinking broth and tea and water at each waking moment.

When Thorin was not worrying about his boys, he was waiting for news from Bilbo. This waiting, nurse-maid charade was driving him mad with the lack of news and the lack of action on his part.

_Stay with the boys._

_We’ll find him._

_I’m sure he’s okay._

Thorin massaged his forehead, half bent over his food. He hated this…being left behind while his One was only Mahal knew where being—

He didn’t want to think of it.

Pushing the food and mug away, he strode out of the inn, wrapping his coat tighter around his torso and pulling the fur lined hood over his head. Orcrist remained strapped to his back as he stomped through the snow. Banished or not, he’d get into the mountain. He’d find Bilbo himself.

“What are you doing?” He turned around to see Dwalin. “Thorin…”

“I can’t just stay put anymore.”

“And the boys? You think they want you running around on your own.”

“They’re _sick_. Fili and Kili would understand.”

“Then stay put for Frodo’s sake! Bilbo did, did he not? For the last twenty-five years? You can handle a few days.” Thorin glared at him.

“That was unnecessary.”

“Was it?” Dwalin asked. “Are you still thinking of finding a way inside the mountain despite,” he motioned at Thorin’s hair. “There is very little we can do right now but pray that Bilbo is all right. He’s stronger than he looks, if you remember right. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Thorin leaned against a tree just as snow fall drifted down from the sky. “I can’t stay here knowing Bilbo is in danger.”

“He’d rather you stay with Frodo. Let us take care of it.”

Thorin shook his head. “It’s not fair. None of this is…I just…why am I always making the wrong decisions when it comes to Bilbo? From the moment we met…now…Dwalin, what do I do? I can’t just stay here—”

“Staying here, making sure your son and nephews get better, that is the only thing you _can_ do. I know it’s killing you and you’re handling it better than I ever thought you would, but there’s nothing else that you can do. Just stay with the boys. Especially with Frodo.”

Thorin massaged his forehead. “It’s been two days. How can we be sure he’s alive?”

“And you need to stop thinking that way,” Dwalin said. “If Bilbo can take you on while gold-mad after facing a dragon, even laughing at it, he can handle a few kidnappers. He’s likely fine. Probably we’ll get a letter sooner or later about how he’s going to kick Fili’s and Kili’s arses first chance he gets for dragging Frodo out of the mountain when traveling conditions were shit. It’d bet well deserved, since Frodo’s sick.” Thorin managed a wry smile.

“They’re sick too. Even Bofur has a case of sniffles.”

“I never thought that would happen: Bofur getting sick.”

“I feel useless. I’ve so much at my disposal, to find Bilbo before it’s too late and I can’t do anything about it,” Thorin admitted. “I don’t know how staying with my family is going to help Bilbo. Or how it is meant to help him…I just don’t.”

“Maybe it’s not, but it is definitely helping Frodo,” Dwalin said. “So get your butt back to the inn and check on him. And your nephews while you’re at it, if you must. I mean, Dis.”

Thorin nodded slowly. Dis was a very good reason to head back to the inn and make sure Fili and Kili didn’t get worse.

“For what it’s worth, Thorin, I’d just remember that Bilbo is stronger than he looks. And tougher than all the company combined.”

“It doesn’t make me feel less useless nor does it calm me. But you’re right, he is strong.” He shook the flakes from his coat and headed back toward the inn. “Find him. And find who took him.”

“I take it you want their heads?”

“I want their beards.”

Dwalin’s gaze turned dark and he dipped his head in a slight bow. “Aye, I can do that.”

#

Frodo lifted his head, poking out of the covers. Thorin set a tray on the bedside table with steaming liquid. “Tea,” he said. “Feeling any better?” Frodo sat up, arms shaking beneath him, and held the hot cup in his hands.

“Not really,” he said. His voice sounded like it had gone through a cheese grater. “Any news on Dad?”

Thorin shook his head. “We’ll hear sooner or later, one way or other.” Frodo sipped the tea, feeling it settle in his stomach and clear his sinuses. “Did your dad tell you stories about our adventure?” He looked at Thorin and nodded. “He’s strong, Frodo. Bilbo will come home and he’ll be all right. At worst, I guess he might be shaken. But that’s it.” 

Frodo lowered his gaze. “I don’t like this,” he grumbled. “I hate being useless.”

He heard Thorin snort. “You and me both, _Nidoyel_ ,” he said.

Frodo finished the tea and sneezed so violently, it rattled his whole body and made him dizzy. He set the cup down and dove back under the covers before falling back to sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

Knocking at the window woke Frodo sometime the following morning. The room was empty and he guessed Thorin had gone to check on Fili and Kili or to get food. He wasn’t sure. The tapping was loud and it aggravated his pounding head.

Frodo sat up, sniffing, and went to let in the crow. It dropped a roll of parchment and perched on top of the door, eying Frodo with beady eyes.

Frodo knelt down and picked up the scroll. He opened it and sat down on the bed.

It was in Khuzdul and his head felt quite muggy, so the sharp, angular letters didn’t register as well as they normally would. He recognized “Hobbit,” and “Arkenstone” and really that may be all he needed to understand. He stood, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, and went in search of Thorin.

“Damn it, I’m _fine_ ,” Kili muttered at Thorin. “It’s mostly gone. Hi, Frodo.”

Thorin turned to him, brow furrowed. For a moment, Frodo was afraid and regretted getting out of bed.

“Erm…letter,” he said, sniffing.

Thorin took it, scanning its contents. If possible, the stormy look in his eyes darkened and Frodo wondered if he should run back to bed and stay there. Instead he tightened the blanket around him.

“It’s about Dad, right?”

Thorin looked at him. “He’s alive,” he said. “It’s a ransom demand. Is their raven still here?”

“It was a crow.”

“Crude,” Fili said, sniffing. “Ravens are more polite.”

Thorin strode out of the room and Frodo followed, feeling out of place in the whole scheme of it. The crow was grooming itself when he returned, sitting on his bed. He sniffed. Thorin whistled and the bird approached, engaging him in a staring contest before holding its leg out. Thorin tied the note to the leg and let it out. Frodo watched him, dabbing his nose. His head was bowed and shoulders hunched.

He turned around. “Feeling better?”

“A bit. What did you tell them? What did they want?”

Thorin huffed, sitting on his bed. “They want the Arkenstone,” he said. “And I told them that they can have it at their own peril. But if any harm comes to your dad, they will not have it. I also told them that the Arkenstone will take some time to retrieve.”

“How much time?”

“It’s back in Erebor, Frodo. Buried in a dark chamber and locked in chest. With the weather what it is, I cannot say how long it will take to get it here.”

Frodo sniffed and nodded, averting his gaze to his hands.

“Frodo, I will do what I can and if there is a chance to get Bilbo back sooner, we will take it.”

He nodded, lying back down. He never thought he’d ever wish he never came to Ered Luin. He loved it here. And now that he was considered royalty…

Everything just sucked.

#

Bilbo was escorted to the bathroom three times a day, one for each meal (and wasn’t that depressing! It’s one thing when you’re on a quest. Time is of the essence, but in a kidnapping situation, the least they could do is let him eat regularly).

These times were the only times his hands were unbound and he usually took advantage of it by massaging his poor shoulders and arms, even his legs.

Aside from that, he also used the time to look around, note if there was any way he could feasibly escape. The guard turned his back to him, allowing him his privacy and once he was properly sated, Bilbo crept over to him.

He covered the guard’s mouth with his hand and seized his dagger, sliding it into his side. He waited for the Dwarf to slip into unconsciousness, blood pooling around him, like paint on a canvas.

Bilbo wiped the blade and skipped over the guard, pressing against the wall as he made his way over to Sting. Like _hell_ he was leaving his own weapon in the hands of these vagabonds!

Once he snatched Sting, he retreated back to the shadows, walking carefully so not to be noticed and keeping to the shadows, back pressed to the walls.

“Find the Halfling!” one of his captors shrieked when they found the body of their comrade.

Bilbo pulled Sting free and took a deep breath. Getting out of here alive likely meant more lives lost, but apparently there didn’t seem to be any other choice for him. Not if it meant getting back to Frodo.

He would have benefited from having his ring, but as far as he knew, it was still at Míl’s house in his room. Bilbo licked his lips and held Sting, the flat of the blade pressed to his chest. He wanted to sneak out, would gladly have escaped unnoticed, but that didn’t seem to be much of a choice now.

So he waited, when one of them was close, he moved Sting downward, cutting the Dwarf where the shoulder met neck and the fight began.

#

Finding a Hobbit splattered in blood that did not belong to him had a rather unprecedented effect on the Dwarves of Ered Luin as Bilbo entered the guardhouse.

Namely: Bilbo Baggins was not a Hobbit to cross.

The guards gladly followed his directions to where the thieves’ den was located and rumors spread that Bilbo had only been armed with a dagger.

Within hours.

With the leader was a letter promising the Arkenstone for Bilbo’s return, written in Thorin’s hand. When Bilbo learned of it, he swore he was going to murder the Dwarf.

“You’d think after everything we went through, he’d know I can hold my own just fine,” he muttered as he was led to a bath house. The clothes he wore had been taken to be burned and Sting to be cleaned while he bathed and new clothes fetched.

After he had cleaned he was reunited with Bifur, who nearly broke his back with the hug he gave him.

“Bifur,” Bilbo said. “I’m glad you’re all right, but where’s Frodo?”

Bifur blinked and replied quickly.

“He went with Fili, Kili, and Bofur to Mithlond where Thorin Oakenshield resides,” the translator said. Bilbo thanked her and requested paper and pen while Bifur ran to get some food for him.

 

> _Thorin, I’m safe. Don’t send for the Arkenstone. – Bilbo_
> 
> _PS: Is Frodo with you? Is he all right?_

He sent it with a raven just before Bifur returned with two bowls of chili.

Bilbo thanked him and ate, ravenous. Once he finished one bowl, he went for another paired with a bread roll as he told his tale again to a group of awe-struck Dwarves.

Despite this victory, he didn’t think it was the end. Someone was still after them. Who or what exactly they were targeting, Bilbo didn’t know, but he wouldn’t be caught unawares again.

#

Thorin reviewed the letter to Dis one last time before setting it aside to dry. He’d send it in the morning with a raven.

He stretched, back cracking, and he lamented his age with a half-hearted glare at his son and nephews. They were well enough to come downstairs now, awake for a few moments at a time before getting groggy again and wobbling back up to their rooms.

The barkeep approached with a raven on his shoulder.

“Letter for you, Master Dwarf,” he said. The raven hopped off and extended its leg. Thorin took the letter. It was short and in Bilbo’s hand. He thanked the Man and approached the boys.

“Frodo,” he said, handing the letter to him. “You know your dad’s handwriting better than I do.”

Frodo blinked and looked at the letter. Thorin watched his expression shift from confusion to shock to relief. A whimper escaped Frodo’s throat and Thorin pulled him into an embrace, kissing the top of his head.

“He’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s going to be okay now.”

“Bilbo’s alive?”

“Yes,” Thorin said. “He’s alive and well, it seems. But his letter is far too short for my liking. Aye?”

Frodo nodded, hiccupping.

Thorin released him. “Clean yourself up while I get the stationary.”

Frodo nodded, blowing snot into one of his new handkerchiefs.

#

 

> _Bilbo,_
> 
> _Thank Mahal you’re all right!_
> 
> _I would rather a better account than what you’ve sent, but yes, Frodo is safe and he is as well as a tween can be while recovering from a bad fever. Fili and Kili had fallen prey to it as well. They’ve just started managing bits of dry food rather than broth and tea._
> 
> _You’ve escaped just in time: your note got to me just as my letter to Dis began to dry._
> 
> _What of the Uruk Inudoy that kidnapped you?_
> 
> _Tell me there’s a bit left for me to cleave?_
> 
> _You at least left one, right?_
> 
> _Thorin_
> 
> _Dad,_
> 
> _I’m fine. Just a cold. The soup here is too salty and the tea is bland._
> 
> _Did you kill people?_
> 
> _Frodo_

Bilbo chuckled at the letters, massaging his forehead. Frodo really was more like his adad than he wanted to admit. He shook his heads and dipped the quill in the inkwell, beginning his next letter adding a promise to come down and visit as soon as he could get away with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the quality of this chapter...it's not the best but hey, at least Bilbo's okay, right? :)


	30. Chapter 30

 

> _Dear Thorin and Frodo,_
> 
> _I regret to inform you that I did not leave any of my captors living. It was sort of a situation where if I didn’t kill them they might have killed me._
> 
> _That said, Frodo, we will be having a talk about this violent streak running through your head._
> 
> _And really? The Arkenstone, Thorin? You still have that thing?_
> 
> _Frodo, when I have the means to do so, I will fix this monstrosity you’ve been put under. Salty soup and bland tea. The very words make me shudder! I doubt you could have tasted it much anyway if your nose was as stuffed up as I think it was._
> 
> _As for an account of my time with my captors, Thorin, I’d rather that not be on paper, you understand? _
> 
> _The weather is calming down as best it can and once it’s safe to travel again, I’ll come down. Given how close it is to Yule now, I was thinking that we might as well celebrate it there. (Thoughts, Frodo?)_
> 
> _I will see you all soon, I hope._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Bilbo_

He set his quill down and screwed the cap back on the inkwell. He wiped his fingers of ink and stood to fetch himself some tea. He needed it. He was glad Frodo was safe, but a part of him felt almost like a limb had been cut off. It was ridiculous. Frodo didn’t need him as much anymore! But still, having him physically separated from him at this time felt wrong…

 _I suppose I need my boy more than he needs me. Foolish Hobbit that I am,_ Bilbo thought adding fresh tea leaves to his cup and taking a sip. He could literally feel the tension seep away. Nothing like a good cup of chamomile. It wasn’t Dori’s level (nothing could achieve _that_! The Dwarf knew his tea better than any Hobbit!), but it was good enough.

Míl entered, setting her bag down and shedding her coat. “All well?”

“Well enough,” Bilbo said. “Could be better. It’s too quiet!”

“Well, you enjoy the quiet while you can,” she said. “I imagine you’ll be getting into fights with your strong willed lad again as soon as the hype dies. You’ll see.”

“I know. I wish I could say otherwise, but I suppose it’s quite unavoidable. I’d still feel better if he were here and not in Mithlond with his Adad, you know.”

“Bilbo, way you carry on I doubt you’ll ever be ready for him to move on into his own home with a husband or wife!”

“Yavanna above! Don’t remind me! He’s a tween still! I don’t want to think of weddings and the like till he’s well into his thirties! Maybe forties.”

Míl threw her head back and laughed. “Goodness! Hobbits do marry young.”

“No. Dwarves just age slower, and ergo live longer. My people live about as long as Men do and yet we age slower. I suppose.”

Bilbo finished his tea and debated getting another cup as Míl mumbled about getting dinner started. The ink was nearly dry anyway, so he offered to help. Anything to kill the time, after all.

#

Frodo yawned, trudging along behind his cousins into a snow-blanketed field. Thorin said something about needing to go back to the forge since they were well again. True, he did feel better, but a part of him felt that whatever his cousins intended would do nothing but make them sick again.

But if it came down to being bored at the inn or this, Frodo would rather do this. Besides, his letter to Mac needed to dry before he could mail it. He was getting worried. Mac hadn’t written him since he sent his first letter to him some time before. He hadn’t told anyone that he’d not been hearing from him. He didn’t want to see the thought take form on his dad’s face because he’d already been thinking it:

_Arranged marriage._

His dad had tried to shelter him from that truth for as long as possible and as far as Bilbo is concerned, Frodo still doesn’t know.

But how could he _not_? When he was younger, he and Mac had seen the older tweens who had once been in love suddenly paired off with others, miserable and even angry. At the time, it didn’t make sense to him. Frodo shook his head.

_Everything’s fine. It has to be—_

The sting of ice splattered his face and he sputtered.

Kili was snickering.

“Get your head out of the clouds, Frodo!” Fili shot at him as he packed as much snow into a ball as he could. Frodo glared at him and knelt down to gather the snow.

“You’ll pay for that,” he snarled.

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” Fili goaded, smirking.

“He looks like a mini-Thorin like that!” Frodo stood and aimed.

“Nah. His glare needs more work before he can look anything like Thorin—” Fili stumbled back. Whether from the force of impact against his shoulder or shock, Frodo didn’t know, but still. “Oh, you are going down, Dwobbitling!”

“I’d like to see you try!” Frodo snapped, sticking his tongue out at Fili and Kili.

“May the best Dwarf win!” Kili shouted.

“ _Du Bekar_!”

#

They at least had the gall to look sorry when Thorin caught them in the middle of a snow ball fight. But whether or not they actually were contrary remained to be seen, especially when he turned around to get them some soup and looked over his shoulder to see them patting each other’s backs.

If they got sick again, he’d have to convince Bilbo it was not his fault. For now, the lecture would have to do. One days his nephews would actually act like the adults they’re supposed to be. However, Thorin feared that would not be in their first century.

“Letter for you, sir,” the barkeep said, another raven hopping across the table toward him.

Thorin took the letter and carried the tray back to the boys, who were getting another talking to from Dwalin. He set the tray down and opened the letter. After reading it, he handed it to Frodo. “So…do you know how to celebrate Yule? Or do you celebrate it?”

“The cheek of you!” Kili snapped.

“Of course we celebrate Yule! What? You believe those lies told about us?!”

“Of course not! It’s just, Lóf and Míl usually celebrate it the same way Hobbits do. They say it’s easier and more fun.”

“Ah.”

“Easier how?”

“You get a tree. You decorate it. Put wrapped presents under it. On the first Yule Day, you have dinner with family and fireworks at midnight. After that, there’s a family lunch and you open presents.”

“Huh. That’s simpler than we thought it’d be,” Kili said. “Ours is a lot longer…”

“About a week long.”

“And there’s lots of feasting.”

“Dancing.”

“Drunken craziness.”

“That’s not that uncommon,” Frodo said. “Dad doesn’t get drunk though. Said he never found much use for it…” Thorin snorted at that. He had seen Bilbo drunk a couple times on the quest. Likely he was trying to set a good example for Frodo rather than enjoy the party like he normally would.

“Really?”

“Didn’t Bilbo get drunk at Laketown?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“He did,” Dwalin said, tearing his bread roll in half.

“I wonder what made him stop drinking,” Kili added. They looked at Frodo, who grew steadily more confused.

“How is this my fault?”

Fili patted his shoulder. “It just is. Don’t try to understand it.” Frodo glared at him. Thorin let them be. Better to let them have as much fun as they can while the peace lasts.

After dinner, he and Dwalin left the boys with Bofur.

“Do you think this will be the end of it?” Thorin asked.

“No,” Dwalin said, crossing his arms. “They demanded the Arkenstone.”

“Surely they know it’s worthless now. The stone means nothing.”

“It is still valued as one of a kind,” Dwalin said. “Even if its meaning to our people is lost, it could fetch a fancy price to any bidder with enough money.”

“Aye,” Thorin said. “I suppose that is true.”

“Bilbo is safe, Thorin. He’s home and will be joining us when he’s able. Is that not enough?”

“It is, in a way. But I fear there is something fouler at work. Why the Arkenstone? Who could want it? And why use Bilbo to get to it? I’m aware they know that Frodo is my child, but they specifically targeted Bilbo and me by using Frodo. Why?”

“Save these questions for another day. We cannot be sure of anything right now save this: your son is here and he is well. Your One is alive and safe at home.”

Thorin nodded, but the question remained:

How long will this newfound peace last?

If Thorin had any right to say it, he’d say he didn’t hold onto hope.


	31. Chapter 31

By the time that the roads were safe enough to travel, the inn was decorated for Yule and singing and dancing had become more frequent. Frodo and his cousins managed to find a tree they could decorate and leave outside the forge promising Thorn they’d chop it down for firewood after the festivities.

Bilbo arrived later that night, covered in snow and shivering. His ears, cheeks, and nose were bright pink from the chill and he was busy warming his toes by the fire only to be bombarded by Frodo when the trio returned.

“Safe journey, Bilbo?” Fili asked.

“Safer than yours, I imagine,” Bilbo said. “You’re lucky you all only got nasty colds. You all look well enough now,” he said, arching a brow at them. They chuckled.

“We’ve been careful,” Frodo said. “Just got back from decorating a tree by the forge.”

“What would be the point of that?”

“Well, the owner wouldn’t let us bring it in, so we put it up next to the forge Thorin works at with the promise to chop it up for firewood later.”

Bilbo hummed. “Soup still salty?” he asked.

Frodo nodded, wrinkling his nose.

Bilbo patted his cheek. “Only one thing for it then.”

“I’m sick of soup, Dad. We were going to have roast mutton.”

“Get me a plate then. I’ve a room to get to anyway now that my feet don’t feel like ice anymore.”

“Okay,” Frodo said. He stood and joined his cousins at their table. “Dad will be joining us. Said to get him a plate of mutton, too.”

“Consider it done,” Fili said, yawning and stretching. “Thorin will be by in a bit with Dwalin. We should see if we can get a bigger table…”

“You think that’s wise?” Frodo asked.

“The question is whether or not they’re going to fight. I think they can maintain some civility. Perhaps if we’re lucky, they’ll actually talk rather than the usual quips they tend to have.”

The silence between them was contemplative. Would Thorin and Bilbo be able to talk?

Frodo wasn’t sure. He had forgiven Thorin, but he continued to feel guarded around him. He couldn’t quite say why. He just…did. Whether he meant to keep him at arm’s length or not, Frodo wasn’t sure.

“Yule begins tomorrow,” Kili said. “And out of all our fun—and in interest of Hobbit-culture—we completely forgot that you should also know our own. We should have a Dwarven Yule next year.”

“Aye,” Fili said. “Question is whether or not we can do that in the Shire, Kili.”

“What do you mean?”

“We are going home as soon as the weather lets up, remember.”

“Oh. Right. Well, Thorin will be here at least. He could make it happen. He’s done it before.” Frodo shrugged, leaning against the table. “And you’re still reserved about him, aren’t you?”

“Well, what do you expect?” Frodo asked, frowning. “I wish it were that easy, but it’s just not! I mean, I forgive him and all, but honestly, I don’t know if I forgave him completely. I’m not as mad anymore. But it’s still there.”

“What’s still there?”

“His madness. Isn’t it? The gold madness?”

Fili and Kili looked at each other.

“Maybe it’s different for us,” Kili said. “Thorin raised us after our father died, after all, so I suppose we see him as a father more than an uncle. We won’t deny that that had scared us when we saw it. But no, Frodo, the madness is gone from him and if it lingers, it has not reared its head again.”

“To add to that, he fears it perhaps more than anyone else here,” Fili said. “It doesn’t excuse what he’s done to Bilbo and while we don’t like it, we do understand why Bilbo left. We were more cross about the lack of correspondence than his leaving and Thorin wouldn’t do anything. As much as we love our uncle, his mind is often unknown to us. We know he wanted to make amends and still does, but I think it was easier for him to deal with the loss because of the distance between them.”

“And we all know he regrets it, otherwise he wouldn’t have…you know.” He held a hand up, closed save for the first two fingers, which he pressed together and then apart like scissors. Frodo nodded. That had been close to enough for him to believe Thorin’s apology and remorse had been genuine. And still is, he guessed. Kili lowered his hand. “He valued Bilbo above all of us in his madness, Frodo,” he exchanged looks with Fili, who nodded. “So there’s that.”

“And after, there was the moping.”

“Oh Mahal! Don’t remind me!” Kili said, massaging his forehead. “That was the worst!”

“Yeah.”

“It was that bad?” Frodo asked, frowning.

“After Bilbo left, he was often melancholy. He pretended he was all right for Dain and the nobles, but there were times I caught him on that very balcony, staring at his hand or into the distance,” Kili said. “He was heartbroken, Frodo. And likely still is.”

“Not to mention his self-loathing has always been pretty bad.”

“Yeah.”

Frodo blinked. “Self-loathing?”

“Yeah. Thorin actually does his best and has been nothing short of a good king if not a great one,” Fili said. “However, Thror had done much of the same things Thorin did. The result of his work, though, was Erebor rather than Belegost and Belegost was dangerous when they got there. Bad rock, unhospitable…”

“He managed it, though,” Kili added. “And our people have praised him for it. But it wasn’t as prosperous or grand like Erebor was. Even though we ended up having a stable life, Thorin always thought that the lack of prosperity was a bad thing and blamed himself for the people’s struggles. And so when the opportunity to take Erebor back came, he took it. I don’t know all the details, but…”

“Long story short, it got worse after he snapped out of it. We don’t blame him. He got sick. And we do understand your caution, and Bilbo’s, but your caution has actually been hurting him more. Especially Bilbo’s. I couldn’t imagine what that does to him.”

“Well, he wouldn’t be the first Dwarrow to have had his One reject him,” Frodo said.

“True, but it’s one thing to be rejected because your One loves another and another thing to be rejected by your One because they cannot trust you. A Dwarf will do whatever it takes to ensure his One is happy, even if it’s with someone else. If Bilbo had married another, Thorin would likely leave him and you alone. He wouldn’t be happy about it, but he would respect it. He knows he screwed up and he wants to make things right if he can.”

“But it’s not like we intentionally make it difficult for him,” Frodo said.

“You did,” Kili said. “Before. Now it’s definitely unintentional and you could have a good relationship with him if you just _tried_ to trust him. You know why he didn’t respond to your letters and you know that he does not forgive himself easily.”

“Trust him?” Frodo asked. “I don’t even know him! How am I supposed to trust someone who tried to kill my dad? Madness or no madness? I can forgive him, but I don’t think I could ever trust him.”

“What if Bilbo was able to?” Kili asked. “Would it be easier to trust him if your dad did?”

“Maybe,” Frodo admitted, leaning on the table with his head in his hands and frowning. “I can get along with him, at least.”

“We appreciate the effort.”

“What effort?” They looked at Bilbo. “Food not ready yet?”

“It’s coming,” Frodo said as Bilbo sat next to him.

“Uh-huh,” he said, glancing at the barkeep. “Are we expecting others?”

“Just Thorin and Dwalin,” Kili said. “They should be here any minute, I guess, unless there’s a snow storm out front.”

Bilbo nodded and leaned back in his seat. “So,” he said. “What were you lads talking about before my appearance? Clearly it’s got you all scared stiff. Frodo hasn’t been telling horror stories has he?”

Frodo blushed, wishing it’d stop. “No, nothing like that,” he said.

“Just about how awkward this meeting’s going to be. You know, with you and Thorin being, well, you and Thorin.”

“We aren’t _that_ bad.”

“You are,” the three of them said.

“It seems that corresponding has allowed some civility to grow, but with the two of you, it’s more like grass that doesn’t get a chance to grow,” Fili said.

“Well more like flowers that get nipped in the bud,” Frodo corrected. Bilbo smacked the back of his head lightly. “What? It’s true!”

“We are _not_ that bad.”

“Yeah, you kind of are,” Kili said, flinching when Bilbo turned his glare on him.

“We were talking more about Frodo’s relationship with Thorin than yours, but it’s all interconnected, what with him being the other father,” Fili added. “Just trying to help Frodo overcome some doubts.”

“I see. And why would that be something you wouldn’t want to share?” he asked, arching a brow at Frodo. Frodo didn’t look at him, just shrugging. He wasn’t ready to really discuss this with his father. He didn’t know if he ever would be.

Thorin and Dwalin returned just before a few maids arrived with their food and some drink.

“Mutton?” Dwalin asked.

“Yes. Dig in,” Kili said, smirking.

“You two are utter arseholes!”

“Yes, can’t exactly forget _that_ , can we?” Bilbo asked. “Miraculous any of us can still _eat_ mutton.” Dwalin shrugged, mouth already full of meat.

Frodo looked around, quite confused and waited for an explanation.

“Trolls,” Kili said after swallowing.

“Oh.”

“Thorin’s point of view of that event is funnier,” Dwalin said. “Mine is more out of a horror story.”

“That’s because you were one of the ones being roasted.”

“Shut _up_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starts updating on Tuesdays next week.


	32. Chapter 32

“Enjoying the festivities?” Bilbo asked, handing a mug of eggnog to Thorin. Thorin took it, nodding his head in thanks.

“Depends on whether this is how Hobbits celebrate it.”

“It’s quite close. Usually, yule parties are much bigger than this as most Hobbit families are, in fact, rather big.”

“Ah. Well, it’s not what I’m usually doing during this time, but it’s kindly enough. Perhaps a new year may beget a new beginning.”

Bilbo sighed. “Perhaps,” he said.

“You don’t want that?”

“I do, but there is much to work through first, Thorin.”

“And have we not tried only to abound in further miscommunication and trial?” Thorin asked. Bilbo nodded. He breathed in deep and slow. “I do not think this is something we can fix in a night, but if you are willing, perhaps we could just…talk about what kept us apart. Not Frodo, or the twenty-five years where we were apart.”

“So you want to talk about why I left in the first place?”

“All of it, I know I went about it wrong and I don’t know what else to do, Bilbo. Will you grant me this? Or are we doomed to always fight?”

“Okay, we’ll talk. I left because you banished me, Thorin. You made yourself clear that day that my presence was not wanted. We have already established that I was angry. And I didn’t write to anyone because I wasn’t sure if I could. Not because I didn’t want to write them but because I was certain that no one would respond after everything. I just left, after all. When I found out I was pregnant with Frodo, not sending correspondence with the others became a way to keep him secret because, at that time, I was scared that if you ever found out that I had your child, you’d take him from me.”

Thorin looked up from his mug, stunned. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and let Bilbo continue his narrative.

“But I suppose you already figured that…right now though, I’m not as angry as I was before and for years I had been rather bitter. And I know it seems like I am still furious with you and there are days I can’t even bear to think of you because of how angry I get. You were going to kill me over rock, Thorin. How can I _not_ be upset? How was I supposed to believe that you ever loved me? Does that make sense?”

Thorin nodded and took a breath. “I was not myself in those days I regret treating you the way I did. I know you don’t understand the gold madness, but it’s akin to some sort of disease that mixes the forgetfulness of old age with acute paranoia. Waking up from that was as horrible as it was falling into it. I turned against my family, my friends, and somehow, there was just enough sanity in me left to remember that I loved you and for whatever reason, I placed you on some sort of pedestal and trusted you above everyone else, even my _nephews_ , whom I raised. 

"And that was not normal, I know that, I saw it in my grandfather and he treated me the same as I did Fili and Kili, as if I wasn’t there, or a thief watching in the shadows. I feared it my whole life and almost losing you, thinking that I had lost my nephews…I don’t know what made it affect me so quickly, but it took everything from me. It takes a _lot_ to bring someone back from that, and I am the only living case where anyone could come back from the gold madness. For me, it was a strong, emotional kick. When you gave the Arkenstone away, that was when I was at my deepest in the curse.

“It doesn’t excuse what I did. It doesn’t make any of what I did in those days better. I know the Arkenstone is just a rock to you. But for me, it was so much more than that. It was part of my family’s legacy, as treasured an heirloom as your mother’s dishes. It doesn’t make any of what I did better, but there was more to it than just a rock. Still, none of it excuses me. I know. What I did to you, what I tried to do, is unforgiveable. I know you might never forgive me and I know you might never trust me again. Despite knowing that I had lost you by my own hand, I still love you. You never should have felt as though I used you for my own gain and pleasure, that was _not_ what I intended at all.

“I hoped that once the mountain was reclaimed, I could court you as you deserve to be courted, and I could love you as you are meant to be loved. You’re banishment was lifted as soon as I could lift it and the Dwarves of Erebor consider you one of them: Dwarf Friend, and Prince Consort in all but name as you are my One as far as any of them knew, you were not promised to another. I will say it as many times it takes for you to believe me again: I love you and I always will.

“I was willing to let you go and live the rest of my life without you no matter how much it hurt me because I knew I had wronged you so terribly, I believed I could never earn your love back. I had hoped you would find someone stronger than me, who could love you as I had failed to do. If you had, I would know I had lost you completely and you’re happiness was all I ever wanted, even if it was not with me. My sister urged me to come here and the company came along to make sure I didn’t double back before I arrived to the Shire.

“I have _no_ intention of taking Frodo from you. That you let me this close to him is more than I ever hoped. In hindsight, when I cut my hair, I suppose you thought I was trying to twist your arm. No. Never, Bilbo, would I do that. Before that, you gave me a reason to hope that we could be together again, and ripped it out from under me as one would a carpet under feet when you told me to go back to Erebor after the winter. Cutting my hair, a complete banishment…I should have done it sooner. In that time I believed I could have you and Frodo, that we could be a family.

“Perhaps I have lost all right to be in your life and Frodo’s, but now that I’m here, I can’t just leave. I can’t abandon you both again. It’s painful, Bilbo, knowing you are still angry at me, and knowing that my son hates me. It hurts living without you, if that last couple decades can even be called that. Many outside my people think the Dwarven way of loving is unhealthy. We’ve never really seen it that way. We are a devoted people and we endure through much hardship like rocks beaten against the ocean. As you learned to move on and raise Frodo, I was…I was lost. And now, with you before me, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t…I need you, Bilbo. I can’t change the past, though if given the chance I would do so in heartbeat if it meant I could fix this. As it is, I can’t take back what I’ve done.

“It is done and I have condemned myself to waking up in a bed too large and too cold. And I should have written you sooner, but you make me a coward. I was afraid of what would happen if I wrote you. I was afraid you would not receive it. Or if you did, you’d toss it in the fire or that you would write and it would be cold and cruel. I’m not good at this. I’m not good at talking about what I feel or even at reconciliation. Even so, I do not deserve your forgiveness and I know we can’t just pick up where we left off. But if we could start over, that would be more than I dare to hope for, but only by your will and I will not beg you anymore. But neither will I leave you. Just know that I will always hold you at the highest esteem, no matter what you chose and that I know I am unworthy of you.”

He bowed his head, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, and waited for whatever Bilbo would say next.

“I suppose if you traded my mother’s dishes to Lobelia who, despite our hesitant friendship, still wants my house despite knowing she’ll never have it, mad or not I would be quite cross and heartbroken as well. Even if our lives were on the line,” Bilbo said. He took Thorin’s mug and set it beside before taking his hands in his. "I am not happy that you cut your hair, Thorin, but I know Frodo understood the gesture better than I did. I never wanted you to banish yourself. Or even be banished. I think I understand why you did it and, you’re right, I did have a part in that, but it hurts me having you close, Thorin. You hurt me before and I am not sure I can ever trust you as I once did. Yavanna knows, I want to trust you again, but loving you is like getting too close to fire or putting your hand over it and wondering how long you can last with it over the flames before needing to pull away and kissing you before, well...It was so much like that.”

Thorin kissed his hands and his breathing was uneven.

“With that in mind, can you at least give me the time to consider it? You’re right in that we can’t just pick up where we left off and starting over isn’t really an option, just because we know each other’s minds now does not mean that we are at a place where we can court. I didn’t marry because I still love you, Thorin. Sometimes I wish I didn’t,” his voice cracked and he swallowed, Thorin’s hands tightened around his and he kissed them again. “But I still do,” he continued. “And despite that, there is still a part of me that fears you and I shouldn’t be afraid of someone I hold so dear to my heart. So I need more time, Thorin, and honestly, I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”

Thorin nodded, forehead still pressed to Bilbo’s knuckles.

“Perhaps it would be better to start smaller rather than jump into courting. If we can learn to be friends again, if I can trust you again, maybe we can…” Bilbo swallowed again. “Maybe we can fix this mess of ours.” Thorin nodded again and straightened his back. It was with some reluctance that he let go of Bilbo’s hands, but they did and he picked up his mug.

Bilbo grabbed his own, but the drink was tasteless in his mouth.

#

Frodo tied the blindfold over Kili’s eyes and spun him around before sending him over to the tailless horse drawing, a paper tail with a tack at its end in hand. Kili walked in a drunken line toward it, trying to figure out where the rump was—no help from Fili and Frodo and anyone else shouting at him about where it goes, especially since half of the party was shouting incorrect directions.

When he pinned it, it ended up on the horse’s nose instead, making it look more like a rather awkward looking Oliphant much to the group’s delight. Kili mock-glared at Fili and Frodo, who were laughing too hard to notice Kili striding over to them. He punched Fili’s arm and locked Frodo in a headlock, ruffling his hair and laughing at Frodo’s shrieks.

Frodo pushed him off, red faced and laughing, When Fili jumped on Kili and pulling him aside to get drinks, Frodo caught sight of his parents. Thorin’s hands were clasped around Bilbo’s and his forehead was pressed to them. His smile died and he snuck over to them, hiding behind Bilbo.

“Maybe we can fix this mess of ours,” Bilbo said and Frodo frowned. Were they going to start courting again? Was that wise or even a good idea? Frodo wasn’t sure. A part of him wanted Bilbo to be happy, but was his happiness really that dependent on Thorin? They did fine without him for the most part.

Not that Frodo wouldn’t like Thorin around, but even though so much had been cleared up, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to welcome him into Bag End.

“I’d like that,” Thorin said.

“Well, at least all that is cleared up, aye? Ah, it’s nearly midnight. Frodo? Oi! Where’s Frodo? Oh, there you are.”

Frodo looked up. Dad’s eyes were red and a little puffy. Frodo grinned, chuckling weakly. “Hi.”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing! Really. Just…needed a short break.”

“Uh-huh,” Bilbo said. “You weren’t eavesdropping, were you?”

“Of course not. I just got here before you started asking about my whereabouts. Can I have an eggnog? I promise I won’t spike it.”

“I know you won’t. You’re cousins on the other hand…no. You can have some cocoa or coffee if you like, but _no_ eggnog.”

Frodo stood, shrugging. “Can I get a coffee _with_ cocoa?”

“Yes. But hurry, it’s almost midnight! We’ll be doing the count off soon.”

“Okay,” Frodo said, rushing to the bar. Once there, he glanced at Bilbo again. His parents were courting again. He just _knew_ it.

He just didn’t know if that was wise for either of them.


	33. Chapter 33

“Frodo! Are you ready yet?! It’s time to go!” Bilbo shouted, pounding on the door.

Thorin had already gone down to breakfast and left for the forge. The weather wouldn’t hold for much longer and Bilbo wanted to beat a storm if he could. At last, the door opened and Frodo stepped out, rubbing his eyes and glaring at him.

“Well, at least you’re up.”

“Thorin woke me. Pull my covers off and took them out of the room.”

Bilbo laughed. He remembered that. “He did the same to your cousins on our quest. Go get yourself something strong to wake up with and some breakfast.”

“Okay,” Frodo said, shuffling out of the room and heading down the stairs with his bag slung over a shoulder and boots already on. Poor lad. Bilbo took a look inside, making sure everything within was still Thorin’s rather than Frodo’s. Assured that Frodo had everything, he went downstairs to join him.

“I don’t remember if its warmer in the mountain or not,” Frodo said behind a mug of coffee.

“Of course it’s warmer, even if just a midge,” Bilbo said. “It’s _inside_. Goodness did you sleep at all last night?” Frodo shook his head.

“Not much.”

Bilbo sighed. “Well, drink as much as you can. You’re too big to be carried.”

“You could get a dog sled,” Frodo said. “And we could get a dog.”

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. “No.”

“But—”

“No dog is setting foot in my house, Frodo Baggins.”Frodo pouted, but Bilbo kept his foot down. No dogs. Though he recalled he owed him a new cat.“But we can talk more about suitable pets later.” The smile he received was bright with hope. He supposed he’d have to get Frodo a pet now. “I said we’ll talk about it. Not that we would get one.”

“Yes, Dad, I get it,” Frodo said, rolling his eyes.

“Good. Now, have you heard from Mac?”

Frodo’s smile died and he lowered his gaze to his food. “No.”

“Not once?” Bilbo asked. _No, please no._

“Not since we left. He said he’d write, but it’s been months since then and…”

Bilbo reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll figure out what’s happened. I’ll write his parents once we’re back in Ered Luin, okay?”

Frodo nodded.

Still it was odd. Mac had _never_ failed to write Frodo when they were in Ered Luin before. Bilbo didn’t believe that he’d just stop all correspondence.

Something was wrong.

#

“Míl,” Frodo grunted. “You’re squishing me. _Ach!_ My back.”

“You are too young to be complaining about your back,” Bilbo teased, gathering his stationary. Frodo glared at him and went to put his things away.

“It’s good to have you both back,” Míl said. “Dooming me to Lóf like that was cruel.”

“I’m sure Lóf was a perfect gentleman,” Bilbo said. “You’re just too suspicious.” Míl glared at him. “And that is a good thing, I think. Can’t be too careful, yes? Good.”

“I’ll start dinner. I think a nice, hearty chicken will do.”

“That would be lovely, Míl, thank you.”

Bilbo dipped his quill in the ink and began to write.

 

> _Rory,_
> 
> _Mac has not written Frodo since we arrived in the Blue Mountains and he’s worried._
> 
> _To be honest, so am I. Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did. Tell me you didn’t arrange a marriage for Mac and someone else knowing full well that our boys are happy together._
> 
> _I would write more, but I need to know this first and foremost lest I start throwing accusations baselessly and I would prefer not to do that till I know the truth._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Bilbo Baggins_

He set the quill down and wiped the ink off his fingers, letting the letter dry, setting it aside before writing a letter to Thorin. Just a short thing promising they made it back all right and reaffirming that they’d be meeting outside the mountain on the first day of spring the following month if all went well.

“Yavanna’s tits!” Frodo shouted, startling them. Bilbo sighed, massaging his temple. There was a day he’d have belted Frodo for such language, but he can’t really complain when he himself had also sworn openly before. “Mahal’s Hammer! Why didn’t this get mailed to me if I was still going to be getting homework?!”

Bilbo looked at Míl. “Why _didn’t_ it get forwarded to us?”

“I thought it did. His teachers should have known.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure they did. It’s the birds I’m more concerned for.”

Frodo ran down the stairs, eyes wide with panic. “Dad…”

“Yes I will help, but you’ll have better luck with your cousins or Lóf or even Míl helping you and I’ll speak with your teachers in the morning. Deep breaths, lad. It’s not the end of the world.” It had been a rather odd winter season, if nothing else. Perhaps _odd_ was putting it lightly. “Come on, let’s get started while dinner cooks, aye?”

Frodo nodded and set the pile on top of the table.

#

“I think I understand,” Bilbo said, setting his cup down and staring at the noble in front of him. His beard was long and wildly decorated with braids and baubles. “And while I’m sure it’s a flattering offer, Frodo is not seeking marriage and won’t be for another few years if at all.”

“Well, how about we let our lads decide for themselves, eh, Master Baggins?” he said, grinning.

Bilbo hummed. “Well, there would be no harm in that, true, but I remain certain of that. You see, Frodo has a partner back home in the Shire.” _Though is that really still the case?_

“Another Hobbit, I take it?”

“Yes. True, Frodo is also Thorin Oakenshield’s son, but whom he chooses to court is his decision. If your son is willing to be friends and only friends, then I have no reservations at a meeting.”

“Of course.”

“I only ask that you respect Frodo’s relationship, and your son’s autonomy in the matter as well.”

He sighed. “You drive a hard bargain, Master Baggins. Well, even a friendship with the prince of Erebor is beneficial.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure it was _that_ beneficial. It certainly not as beneficial as it would be if he pushed his son toward Fili and Kili, but he nodded and finished his tea. This was not the first time since Bilbo’s return to Ered Luin that he’d been invited to meet with a lord or duke for tea and discuss _potential marriages_.

The nerve! It was bad enough in the Shire, but to bargain and barter your children like _this_ was just…

It made him sick to his stomach. At Mil’s house, a bird waited on the windowsill a letter for Bilbo ready. Bilbo took it and gave the raven a cracker and some water before opening the letter.

 

> _Bilbo,_
> 
> _Mac is fine. He has something he needs to talk to Frodo about and it would be easier to do in person. When you return, stop by for tea and we’ll discuss it._
> 
> _Rorimac Brandybuck_

Bilbo ground his teeth, crumpling the parchment in his hands. “Damn it, Rory, what did you do?” he hissed to nothing in particular.

#

 

> _…I don’t know what I’ll do if they had done what I think they did, Thorin._

He scratched his chin, frowning.

 

> _If they actually think I’ll stand for them breaking Frodo’s heart, they’ve another thing coming! I know I can’t do much, but by Yavanna…_
> 
> _I just don’t know._
> 
> _Bilbo_

Honestly, Thorin hadn’t a clue either. Sure, arranged marriages happened among the upper class in Erebor and, of course, other kingdoms, but the way the Shire operated…separating a couple because one was unsuitable…

Actually, that was quite normal. He never liked it either, to be frank, and let his nephews decide for themselves.

 

> _Bilbo,_
> 
> _I understand your worry. I fear it too. At the same time, they said it was something to discuss in person, right? It could be something else. We know nothing harmful happened to Mac, elsewise you and Frodo would have heard of it._
> 
> _If it is an arranged marriage, there is little we can do about it except show our support to Frodo, whatever course he and Mac choose._
> 
> _It is likely that they’ll overcome this if they love each other as much as I think they do. I do not know about Frodo, but he is half-Dwarf. I do not know if he’ll have One, but his love for Mac will run deep and true._
> 
> _We’ll find a way. I’ll help however I can, but there’s not much we can do for Mac._
> 
> _I don’t want Frodo to get hurt either, but some hurts are simply unavoidable. Heartbreak is one of them, I have found. Take heart in that our son is stronger than he seems. As strong as you are._
> 
> _Whatever may come, we’ll weather it. All I know is that he’ll need ~~us~~ you in the end and I’ll be there to help in whichever way I can._
> 
> _Deep breaths, Bilbo. We don’t know anything for sure, yet._
> 
> _Thorin_


	34. Chapter 34

Frodo walked with a group of Dwarves, most of them older, in some ways, and certainly taller. There was a cordiality among them at least and Bilbo was pleased to see him getting along with more Dwarves than before. Many of them backed off and offered friendship instead when they learned that Frodo was still too young to even think of marriage. It was a decent arrangement and Frodo benefited from it, especially after his homework disaster. He deserved a break after everything that happened since.

What’s done was done and Bilbo was ready for spring to make itself known.

It was the first week of Rethe when the snow had melted enough to allow them to return to the Shire. Frodo picked at his dinner, head balanced on his hand as the joining elbow pressed in the table. Even after Bilbo and Míl had finished and the dishes were put away, he still had barely eaten. Bilbo glanced at Míl and she patted his shoulder before heading to bed. Bilbo sat beside Frodo.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I can see that. How else would I know something’s wrong? You’re usually excited to go home.”

“It’s not that,” Frodo sighed. He set his fork down and looked at Bilbo. “Dad, why hasn’t Mac written me?” Bilbo frowned and squeezed his shoulder. “Did you find out or…”

“No, Frodo, I didn’t. Rory wants us to come by when we return to discuss what’s going on. I do not know why whatever is going on would prevent Mac from writing, but we’ll figure it out.”

Frodo bit his lip, blinking. Bilbo pulled him into an embrace. “It’ll be all right, Frodo-Lad. It’s not the end of the world.” Frodo sucked in a breath and Bilbo rubbed his back.

He wished there was more he could do or say, but as it was, he didn’t think there was anything he could do to help Frodo through this and it broke his heart to see his child going through heartache. As it was, the only thing he could do was be there for him, as Thorin suggested.

“Do you want to try and eat?” Frodo shook his head. Bilbo sighed. “Go on to bed then. But you must eat tomorrow morning. It’s going to be a long journey and it won’t do us any good if you’re not feeling your best because you didn’t keep your strength up.”

Frodo nodded and went to bed.

Bilbo stared at the barely touched plate and shrugged.

Well, he could eat.

#

"Still a bit chilly, don’t you think?” Bofur asked. Bifur tightened his cloak around himself nodding. Balin sighed and Bofur turned to him. “What? It is.”

“Aye, but the sooner we get back to the Shire, the sooner we can head home. It’ll be a nice late spring when we get back to Erebor and then there’s the coronation to think about as well as _who_ will be crowned: Dis or Fili.”

“Can’t it just be mum?” Fili asked. “I’m pretty sure she does a better job at ruling than anyone of us combined.”

“Aye, but it’s not that simple,” Balin said. “First off, we have to actually _explain_ why Thorin decided to stay away. Reuniting with his One isn’t an acceptable reason for him to abdicate the throne.”

Fili frowned. “So we have to tell them that he cut his hair.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I know it’s bad, but is it really _that_ much worse when it’s the King?”

“Well, even if his hair grows back and if he were to return, Thorin will never be recognized as the King again. At least, not politically.”

“I believe it was my decision to make,” Thorin said, pulling his hood up as more a reason to protect his neck. “I do not regret it. Fili, you’ll be fine if you are crowned. You know you can trust Balin’s advice and you’re welcome to write me if you need to.”

“I think you’ll be too far away.”

Bilbo arched a brow. “So you _won’t_ be writing your uncle?”

“What? No! I will write just…oh.”

He swore in Khuzdul, earning a slap to the back of his head from Dwalin. Kili and Frodo sniggered at him and Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“They’re your nephews,” Bilbo said.

“I know. You want them?”

“I’m sorry, one tween is enough for me, thank you.”

Thorin looked at him. “I thought you wanted a daughter?”

“Well, it’d be nice to, but to be honest, I’m not even sure I _could_ have another child at this point. I didn’t even expect to get pregnant with Frodo when I did.”

He ruffled Frodo’s hair, and Frodo shoved his hand off, urging his pony into a trot away from Bilbo. He turned around and sent him a defiant scowl.

“But I wouldn’t mind having another child if it were possible. I just don’t think it is.”

Thorin hummed. “Do Hobbits not adopt? It’s a common practice among Dwarrows.”

Frodo turned around. “What’s adoption?”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

The Dwarves stared at them. “What…what about orphans?”

“Oh, they move in with their next of kin, and that’s only if they’re underage,” Frodo said.

“That’s adoption,” Thorin said. “A form of it, anyway. And if they don’t have any living relatives?”

“Impossible. Everyone in the Shire is related to someone else in some way.”

Thorin looked at Balin. “I think you’d be able to explain this better than I could.”

“It matters not to Dwarrow who takes in a child so long as someone offers to take the child in and raise them as their own. For instance, a child of Men once grew up among Dwarrows and though his blood is that of a Man, he was considered a Dwarf, named a Dwarf and treated like a Dwarf, but still was a Man.”

“That’s…complicated.”

“It is not done?”

“Not in the Shire, no.”

“Maddening,” Bofur said, “Just maddening…”

“Is it really that bad that we don’t do that?” Frodo asked. He looked as confused as Bilbo felt.

“It’s not bad,” Kili said. “You’re not the only race who doesn’t practice adoption, but it’s kind of a cruel thing to not take in a child who needs a good home and stability so to grow into a proper adult.”

“Huh.”

Something about Dwarf Culture that Frodo didn’t know of.

Bilbo turned to Thorin. “Well, I suppose that’s an option, but at the moment, Frodo’s more than enough, I think.”

“Fair enough. Just know it is an option w—you can take if you choose it.”

#

_He could feel the Savior’s heartbeat._

_He could feel his fear. He could almost taste it._

_He wanted to corrupt him. He wanted to destroy everything he stood for._

_He was gaining power again._

_The witch had dealt a great blow on him, brave woman that she was, but he was strong again._

_He was getting stronger and soon._

_Very soon._

_He would take his revenge on Middle Earth._

_Sauron opened his eye and fixed it on the Savior._

#

Frodo felt watched. He turned his head to look around. Bilbo whistled. “Frodo, dinner is ready. Come eat, lad.”

“Right, Dad,” he said, approaching the fire and sitting between his cousins.

That feeling he had…

He didn’t like it.

“Cold?” Kili asked.

“A bit,” Frodo said, inching closer to the fire and holding his hands close to the heat though he doubted the chills he felt were ones heat could heal. Bilbo handed him a bowl.

“Eat up and mind the ashes,” he said.

“Yes, Dad,” Frodo said, sitting between his cousins again.

That night, he still felt watched and he could not sleep.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...
> 
> I'M SORRY!!!

Once settled in the Shire once again, Bilbo sent word to Rory and waited for a reply.

“Would you like me to come as well?” Thorin asked. “As the other parent?”

“I’m not sure what to expect from this meeting,” Bilbo admitted, “And if it is what I fear, then I would rather you not be there. I don’t think I’d be able to hold my temper in check, let alone yours.”

Thorin frowned and sat down. “What do you think it is?”

Bilbo handed him a cup of tea.

“To be honest, I’m hoping it’s not as bad as I think it is. Mac isn’t a bearer, at least that’s what he told Frodo and me. And…well, I don’t recall if I’ve told you this, but Hobbits value fertility and a family that is able to bear children is preferred to those who can’t. So much so that while it is acceptable to court another who cannot bear, it is often encouraged to not be too serious as it is likely they’ll have to marry someone who can give them children. My parents always found it heinous and their views were passed on to me. They said there were too many broken hearts and if you look carefully, you can tell who had their heart broken.”

“You were one?”

“I was,” Bilbo said. “And then I was again.” Thorin winced.

“Bilbo, I—”

He held his hand up to silence him. “I know. It was a bad time all around for everyone. Well, anyway, I don’t want that to happen to Frodo if I can help it. For now, I really hope that Mac lied about whether or not he could bear. It would simplify so much, to be honest and honestly, I wouldn’t mind it. I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I did.”

“So that’s if it’s good, and if it’s bad then they’ll be forcing the boys to end their courtship?”

“Yes, possibly they arranged a marriage for Mac—I would never do that to Frodo, so you know—with someone who can give him children. The thing is he’s _not_ the eldest son, Saradoc is and he’s courting a cousin’s daughter.”

“So the family line is secure.”

“Yes.”

“And yet they might force the boys apart?”

“Yes.”

“That’s insane!”

“That’s the Shire,” Bilbo said darkly. “Frodo’s not stupid. Even if I have not warned him of this, he probably knows of it anyway. I think the idea of it happening to him scares him as much as it does me.” Bilbo set his tea cup down and leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. “Thorin, I’m terrified of what will happen next.”

Thorin set his own cup down and took Bilbo’s hands.

“As I had said in my letter when we last talked about this: heartache is part of growing up. I had to deal with it when Fili and Kili first started falling in love. Kili never gave up and now he’s married. I can’t really say I approved much when he first began courting Tauriel, but I am happy for him. Fili on the other hand is far more wary of those who approach him with a missive of courtship. He’s a wise Dwarf, even if he still acts a bit like a youth, but I can’t be prouder of who he has become. With that, there is very little you can do but be there for him and let him know you’re on his side and that you’ll always be there for him, through the bad and the good.”

“Is that _all_ I can do, though?”

“You can’t mend Frodo’s broken heart. Only he can mend it. We might not be the best example—I know I’m not—but that doesn’t matter. He’s our child and he knows you best. He’ll go to you, not me. I’ll help however way I can, but there’s very little that we can do save for be there for him.”

Bilbo nodded and let go of Thorin’s hands. “I know, I just wish there was more I could do.”

“No parent wants their child to get hurt, except children will get hurt and the most we can do is just be there to help them when they are.”

The door opened and Frodo stormed in, rushing up to his room. Bilbo braced himself for a slamming door, but none came. Well, that can’t be good. A slamming door is bad. But no slamming door? That had never happened before.

Bilbo excused himself and headed upstairs. The door was closed, so he knocked. “Frodo?” No answer. “Frodo, can I come in?” He tried the handle and the door swung open. Frodo’s back faced the door, or so Bilbo guessed as he had cocooned himself in his bedsheets. Bilbo sighed and approached the bed. “Frodo?” he pulled the sheets back to reveal Frodo.

His nose was red and his sheets were wet with tears.

“Oh, Frodo,” he said. Bilbo pulled him up into an embrace. Frodo buried his face in Bilbo’s shoulder and let a sob escape his throat. Bilbo would get answers from Rory. For now, it was a matter of keeping calm. He didn’t know enough and he would get answers eventually if at all.

For now, the most he could do was this and it hurt that there was little else he could do for Frodo.

He kissed his forehead and asked if he’d like something to eat. Frodo refused, though he promised he’d be down for supper. Bilbo allowed it and went downstairs. He glanced at Thorin then looked at his feet. “It doesn’t get easier,” Thorin said. “You just do the best you can.”

#

The tea time spread on the table at the Brandybucks was as impressive as what Bilbo could offer as a Baggins of Bag End. For the most part, though, Bilbo did not care for the food laid in front of him. He had yet to see Mac and Sara, but it didn’t matter. Right now, he was here to speak with Rory and Menegilda. So far, neither had offered an explanation, but as they were still eating…Bilbo didn’t want to eat, he just waited for them to finish so they could begin this discussion.

Finally, Rory set his cup down and met Bilbo’s gaze. “It would be best if Frodo and Mac stopped seeing each other.”

Bilbo set his cup down, fearing if he had anything in his hand, he might be tempted to throw it. “Why?” he asked. “Has Frodo hurt Mac?”

“No, it is not that,” Menegilda said, hands in her lap. “We’re sorry, Bilbo, but the boys…neither are bearers, you know. Rory and I think it would be best if Mac married Ashton Clover’s daughter Annabelle. Especially given that Frodo and Mac’s relationship is starting to mature. There’s been talk and…”

“Another reason we decided to do this is, while we have no reservations against you and your son, Frodo is a bastard and also half-Dwarf.”

“I see,” Bilbo said icily. He pressed his elbows to his knees and leaned forward. “From what I gather, you bartered your son’s happiness for the sake of your family’s reputation not _only_ because no children could be begotten if Mac and Frodo were to wed when they came of age but _also_ because he was born out of wed-lock and his other parent is not a Hobbit.”

“Frodo’s a fine, strong lad,” Rory said. “And he’s handsome, too. There are many bearers, both male and female, who’d be willing to overlook his heritage. It’s just…to be honest, if Mac were a bearer, or Frodo, I wouldn’t see any reason to put an end to their courtship. It isn’t a matter of whether I need heirs, but you. Frodo is your only child, after all.”

“The only thing I ever wanted for my son was happiness,” Bilbo growled. He was so livid, his whole body shook with rage. “And for a long time, I once thought the same of you both! Do you understand? You _hurt_ my child.”

“Bilbo—”

“What you did to my son I will _never forgive_! Not only does your decision break his heart, you insult him to my face with nary a thought!” He shouted. He took a breath. “As this is not Mac’s decision, he will be welcome to my house if he wishes, but _you two_ will stay away from my family. You will stay away from my child or so help me…” He stood. “Good day.”

With that, he strode out of the house, slamming the door behind him. It was not a conscious decision and it made him pause. Well, at least he knew where Frodo got that habit from now. Bilbo began the trek back to Hobbiton.

#

“So that’s it?” Frodo asked, hugging his legs.

“I don’t know,” Bilbo said. “I really don’t know what will happen next. But I will be here for you through it all, okay?” Frodo nodded, hugging his legs tighter. He bit his lip and blinked as his eyes shone. Bilbo embraced him and the tears spilled from between Frodo’s lashes onto Bilbo’s shirt.

He wished there was something he could say. Anything he could do to help Frodo overcome his heartache. As it was, there probably wasn’t anything he could do but this and it hurt there was nothing else he could do. He couldn’t erase the pain and he couldn’t put a bandage on it.

It wasn’t a scrape or a cut. Physical pain was easy to deal with. Physical pain always healed.

But this? He knew how he was and he knew how Thorin was. Emotional pain could last for years if left untreated. Bilbo knew, and looking at Thorin, he could tell that he knew as well. All he could do was hope that Frodo was wiser than his fool-hearted fathers.

Someone knocked at the door and Bilbo let him go, promising to be right back. He opened the door. Mac looked at him, cheeks and nose red.

“Can…were you serious about me being able to come here if I wanted?”

“I was,” Bilbo said. “He’s in the parlor.”

Mac nodded and hung up his cloak before striding into the room. Bilbo watched from the doorway as the boys kissed. There was likely nothing Mac could do to stop his betrothal, and there was no way this was going to end well for either of them.

From here on, Bilbo feared there would be more heartache and more pain for both of them. But there was little he could do but this.

It would have to be enough.


	36. Chapter 36

“Dwalin decided to stay,” Thorin said. “As had Ori.”

Bilbo hummed around the rim of his tea cup. “What does Dori say to that?”

“Not much, surprisingly,” he said. “I expected him to be angrier about it than he really was. He just…shrugged and told Ori it was his life.”

“So they’re staying. Anyone else?”

“No,” Thorin said. “Not that I mind them staying, it’s just…Dwalin and Ori…”

“Is Dori aware that they’re together?”

“Even if he was, he knows there isn’t much he can really do about it. Ori _is_ technically an adult…either way, everyone thinks Dori’s feeling sick.”

“I would think the same, too. I _do_ think the same,” Thorin admitted. “Dwalin and Ori, on the other hand, are acting like it’s Yule all over again.”

“Let them. They hardly get any privacy as it is. They deserve a little peace. From both of their brothers.”

Thorin shrugged and narrowed his eyes at a spot over Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo turned around to see Frodo and Mac finally coming downstairs.

“Morning,” they said, joining the table.

“It’s just past elevensies,” Bilbo pointed out. “Not much morning to be found left.”

Frodo shrugged, grabbing a bread roll and breaking it in half as Mac piled some hash on his plate.

“We were up late.”

 _Best leave it at that,_ Bilbo decided. He really didn’t need to know what Frodo and Mac decided to get up to last night. It’d been three days and all they got from the Brandybucks was an insistence that they send Mac home immediately. Bilbo burned the letter and set the spare bedroom up for him, telling him he could stay as long as he liked.

Granted, defying the Brandybucks would likely hurt, but they started the war and if the price of his defiance was his son’s happiness, well it was a price he could pay. “I want you up by second breakfast tomorrow, Frodo. You too, Mac. I need all the help I can get in getting Bag End ready for a farewell party to the company.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Sure, Mr. Baggins.”

Bilbo passed the bacon to Mac. “Thank you, lads. Any plans for the day?” They shook their heads, mouths full and Bilbo hummed, thinking of what needed to be done. “Well, once the rooms are clean, Frodo, if you could do the laundry, Mac can help me in the kitchen making food for tomorrow’s party.” They found this agreeable, but as their mouths were still full, neither answered beyond nodding their heads. After the meal, Mac and Frodo washed the dishes while Bilbo saw Thorin out.

“You think you can handle them?”

“I trust they’ll behave themselves,” he said. “And I know they’re old enough to make good decisions if they put their mind to it.”

“All right,” Thorin sighed. “Thank you for inviting me to early lunch.”

“Elevensies,” Bilbo corrected.

Thorin snorted. “I prefer early lunch. Or brunch. Those sound much better than ‘Elevensies.’ I can’t even say it with a straight face—what are they doing?”

Bilbo turned around to see Frodo and Mac ducking under the window. He turned to Thorin. “I have no idea, but it is somewhat cute.”

“Somewhat,” Thorin agreed. “They’re peeking again.”

“So long as dishes get washed, I don’t care. We’ll see you tomorrow.” Thorin nodded and left.

#

“I thought you said they were courting,” Mac said.

“They’re being sneaky about it. I don’t know why, they are.” Frodo went back to the sink.

“Do you care if they do?” Mac asked.

Frodo shrugged. “I really don’t know,” he said. “I mean, I kind of wish they would tell me already that they’re courting and at the same time I’m not sure if I want Thorin to be with my Dad again. I mean, I know he’s my Sire, but he hurt my Dad once. I just don’t want to see that again, you know?”

“No, I’m afraid my parents have been happily married for the last three decades or so without too much drama. You’re parents are just out of this world dramatic.”

“Who’s out of this world dramatic?” Bilbo asked, stepping into the kitchen.

“Thorin, Dad,” Frodo said, smiling at him.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at them, but neither relented. At last, he shrugged. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

#

_He couldn’t see anything after Sting’s light went out._ _He blinked rapidly, begging his eyes to adjust to the darkness and not stumble._ _His fingers curled around a band and he held it up to his nose in hopes of making it out…_

_A ring._

_A gold ring of simple design, like a wedding band._ _He stuffed it in his pocket._

_“Bless us and splash us, Precious. That’s a meaty mouthful—”_

Bilbo sat up in bed, huffing for breath. He laid back down with a deep sigh. He’d not thought of _that_ encounter in years.

Why now?

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the wood and he opened his bedside chest.

The urge to hold the ring…

It was a little too much, sometimes, but nevertheless, he held it and his heartbeat slowed as if the mere act of holding the ring was enough to calm him. Sometimes it was a physical weight being lifted off his back, holding the ring in his hand, no matter how brief. He rolled it around between his fingers before putting it on.

The room was dark and yet he could see everything clearly.

At last, there was peace.

_I see you._

He stood and turned around. He saw a black tower before him and then an eye of flames stared at him.

_I will find you and the blood of the one you hold dearest will be a balm to my mind—_

Bilbo yanked the ring off and fell to the ground. The ring clattered to the floor and he gasped for breath.

 _Frodo_.

Bilbo jumped to his feet and went down the hall, opening the door to see Frodo still slept. Admittedly, Mac _should_ be in the guest room, but Bilbo chose to overlook that for now. He’d discuss it with them later. Even in seeing that the boys were all right with his own eyes, his heart still beat erratically.

 _I don’t think I’ll be going to bed again tonight_ , he decided, closing the door and going to get his bathrobe before making himself some tea and relighting the fireplace. It was as good a plan as any. When his foot collided with the ring again, he picked it up, examining it for a moment. He took it with him and once the fire was lit under the tea kettle, he tossed the ring inside it, deciding to let the fire take care of it.

Not long after, as the kettle whistle, he reached for it with tongs and pulled it out, annoyed by his relief at something so _inconsequential_ eating away at him—

_Are those markings?_

Bilbo leaned forward, examining the sleek Elven script along the band. He seized a quill and paper, copying the markings.

Finally, he made his tea and penned a letter to Gandalf and Elrond with the markings on the page.

One of them, maybe even both, would know what the markings said and why Bilbo had not seen them before, even going so far as to explain how he discovered them. In the morning before making breakfast, he sent them off with the postman. The boys came down in time for breakfast, eager for the party though there were still hours ahead to go. As they cleaned the house, Bilbo managed to forget about the markings on his ring, even a bit about the memory-dream.

But that eye…

That he couldn’t get out of his head.

“Dad?”

He looked at Frodo. “Yes?”

“Are you okay? You seem a little distracted.”

“Me? Distracted? Nonsense. I’m fine,” Bilbo said, renewing his vigor at straightening the study. Frodo shrugged and went back to sweeping the floor. Bilbo sucked in a breath and released it. Whatever it was, he’d figure it out later. For now, he had a party to host.


	37. Chapter 37

“Frodo Baggins!” Bilbo shouted when he caught Frodo on the table. “What in the name of the Green Lady are you _doing_?”

“Putting up streamers,” he said, holding the paper streamers up. “And I put a clean towel over the table first, Dad. I’m not getting it dirty. Promise.”

“I can see that! I’m more concerned about you having a misstep!”

“Yavanna’s tits, Dad! I’m not gonna fall!” Bilbo crossed his arms and watched as Frodo finished putting up the streamers. Once he was done, he got down and held his hands up. “See? I’m fine. You worry too much, Dad.”

“Says you,” Bilbo sighed, massaging his forehead. “Now come on, there are still lots to do. Take that towel off the table and help Mac set it.”

Frodo yanked the towel off the table and took it to the laundry hamper before joining Bilbo and Mac in the kitchen. He took out a white table cloth and went back to the dining room. The next few minutes, Frodo came in and out of the kitchen to set the table as Bilbo and Mac cooked. Once the table was done and Bilbo gave his approval, he put Frodo in charge baking the potatoes. A knock called him away from keeping an eye on the boys and he opened the door.

“You’re quite early,” he said as Dori and Bombur stepped in.

“Figured we’d come by and help,” Dori said. “We leave tomorrow and if we’re having a party first, best you get as many hands as you can.”

“Well, I can’t say four extra hands will go amiss. Frodo and Mac are in the kitchen.” Bombur was already on his way there and Bilbo showed Dori what had been done so far. “I have two kegs of beer and three kegs of ale on the way. As for the wine, I’ve got my own selection under Bag End.”

“You have a wine cabinet _under_ the house?”

“Didn’t you get into it?”

“I took a bottle that was in the ice box.”

“Oh. Well, I’ve about three pantries and, yes, I have a wine collection under the house. I’ll show you and we can pick out a good wine. Red, white, bubblies…”

Dori grinned. “Next you’ll be telling me you have boxes and boxes of tea.”

“I can do you one better: I grow my own tea in the garden out front.” Dori glared at him and Bilbo asked. “You asked. As for the wine, I inherited my father’s vineyard.”

“Ah, so it’s all yours.”

“Indeed.”

“And it will go to Frodo.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“It seems like a poor thing to give the lad when he is a prince. A vineyard and land.”

“You may see it that way, Dori, but honestly, what good would it do for Frodo to have the throne of Erebor? He’s just a boy and he’s not full-Dwarf. Besides, Fili was groomed for the position and he’s already named the heir. I don’t see why he shouldn’t be king. As it is, Frodo grew up here away from that and I am gladder for it.”

Dori hummed. “Well, he is your child, I suppose.”

“Indeed, besides, what use is titles and political prestige to a vineyard?”

“You could give Thranduil a run for his money.”

“Actually, Thranduil’s been buying my wine for nearly twenty years now. He stopped by this way on a trip to the Grey Havens and I introduced him to Shire-Wine. Good for my pockets, bad for production. We can hardly keep up!”

Dori laughed and Bilbo took out a bottle of red wine. “Do you prefer sweet or dry?”

“Depends on who you ask. Ori’s got a sweet tooth as does most of the company. But I know that Balin prefers his wine dry. Most of the company prefers ale or beer.”

“Well, let’s take up four bottles: two dry, two sweet, two white and two red.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dori said as Bilbo handed him a bottle and then went in search of the other three. “So, do you know that Ori decided to stay?”

“Thorin mentioned it, yes.”

“He told me it was to document your people’s culture in an accurate and positive light. But I feel there’s more to it. Dwalin is staying, too, of course. And my guess is that he isn’t keen on leaving Thorin. They’ve known each other since they were bairns after all, but perhaps there’s more to it?”

Bilbo hummed. So Dori _still_ didn’t know about Dwalin and Ori. And while the truth itched to be given voice, he returned with the other three bottles and shook his head. “I wouldn’t know if there was. But at the same time, Dori, Ori _is_ an adult, is he not?”

“Yes, barely, he’s not yet a hundred.”

“Neither is Kili and they _both_ went on the quest. Ori’s a smart one and he can take care of himself, and worrying, well, I know you’re not his father, but you did raise him so as one father-figure to another, sometimes you just _have_ to let them try their own thing. And when he’s ready to come home, he will come home.”

“Well, he’s definitely more foolish than people give him credit for. He’s a Ri. We tend to be rather bullheaded.”

“See? And Frodo’s a Baggins, even if he is also a Durin. Thankfully, he didn’t inherit Thorin’s _bullheadedness_. At least I _really_ hope not.”

“Well, just a little bit.”

“I can handle a little bit.” They stepped back onto the main floor and headed to the kitchen. “But if he told me one day that he was going on a quest against a dragon or something I’d likely tie him down and knock him out before chewing his head off. One Baggins on an adventure is quite enough for this family, I think.”

“Did someone say dragon?” Frodo asked, poking his head out with a grin. “We’re making marshmallow Smaugs!”

“Unless its that kind of dragon,” Bilbo said. Dori snorted. “That’s nice, lad. The potatoes?”

“Done and on the table. Bombur said if we asked Bofur he’d teach us the song they sang when they met you.” Dori laughed and Bilbo groaned. “Dear mother in heaven, _no!_ Anything but that!”

“Now I really want to know.”

“Frodo, have mercy on your old dad.”

“Nope,” Frodo said, grinning. Mac was laughing too hard to even work and Bombur looked far too innocent for Bilbo’s liking.

“Well, let’s finish up,” Bilbo said, holding back a sigh as he went to get the door and show the Hobbits where he wanted the kegs.

#

Bag End rarely was filled with this much mirth, even on normal holidays. Usually there was a lot more reservation, but now there was stomping, dancing, and merry music like Bilbo had not heard since they first arrived in Bag End all those years ago.

“You want to know _that_ song?” Bofur asked. Bilbo sent him a warning glare, but Bofur grinned and winked. “Of course, lads. Fili! Kili! Get your fiddles and strike up Bilbo’s tune!”

The cheers deafened him for a moment and then…

_Blunt the knives_

_Bend the forks_

_Smash the bottles and burn the corks_

_Chip the glasses and crack the plates_

_That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!_

Bilbo groaned and sat down, shaking his head as his back was patted.

_Cut the cloth_

_Trail the fat_

_Leave the bones on the bedroom mat_

_Pour the milk on the pantry floor_

_Splash the wine on every door!_

_Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl_

_Pound them up with a thumping pole_

_And when you’ve finished, if they are whole_

_Send them down the halls to roll…_

He stood and excused himself, smacking Frodo lightly on the head as the lad laughed heartily through the song. He could laugh. He wasn’t there when they sang it for the first time. The tomnoddies. Bilbo stepped out of the house and sat on his stool, deciding to have a smoke.

“May I join you?”

He looked at Thorin and scooted to the side. “Had your fill at laughing at my expense?”

“I think Frodo laughs enough at your expense for the both of us,” he said, sitting down. “More, I would offer condolences. You’re not the first to hear that tune, though the one Fili and Kili came up for me has more to do with dangers in the forge and leaving weaponry around than it does your dishes and crockery. You laugh now, but it made me bash my head in a time or two.”

“Perhaps that’s why you’re so directionally challenged,” Bilbo teased, lighting his pipe, he handed the match to Thorin.

“What no, it’s…shut up.”

Bilbo laughed. “To be frank, it was _not_ Fili and Kili who started _that_ merry tune. It could have been, but more it was Bofur who got the ball rolling. The asses were knocking my silverware together and throwing my dishes about like juggling balls! I told them not to and the next thing I know they’re singing _that_.”

“Sounds about right.”

“You arrived _right after_.”

“Damn.”

“Yep.”

“I am so sorry, but there is very little I can do.”

“That I doubt,” Bilbo said. “They got stoic when you pounded the door. Did you _really_ …”

“Yes. I did get lost.”

“In the Shire?”

“Can we not?”

“No, I want to know how you managed to get lost in the Shire—”

“Dad! Thorin! Try these,” Frodo came down with a tray of marshmallow dragons donned in red sprinkles. “They’re delicious!”


	38. Chapter 38

If Bilbo snuck a few more marshmallow Smaugs into his mouth as the party went on into the night, no one called him out and he considered it a win.

After the party, they struck up another round of _That’s what Bilbo Baggins Hates_ as they cleaned up and gathered around the fire place for smokes, more music, and tale-telling. It was nearly three in the morning when Bilbo sent Frodo and Mac to bed at last before returning to the room.

“Well, I think we can keep the music down if not put it away,” he said. “What with the boys in bed at last!” He collapsed in his armchair.

“Not as cute as they used to be,” Bofur mumbled around his pipe.

“No, indeed they are not,” Bilbo said. “Frodo used to be the most coveted child in the Shire, actually. Polite, well behaved, a touch mischievous…By the Green Lady, I’m still not ready to accept he’ll be an adult. Gladly, I’ve a few years to get used to the idea.”

“What else was he like?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo looked at him and a bubble of guilt swelled in his belly. “Well, as I said, he was mischievous. One time he managed to sneak back a whole blackberry pie for him and his friends fresh from the windowsill. Now, you know, as it was the very blackberry pie I had made later for tea that very day, you can imagine I was cross. So later he came back with a peach cobbler which he ended up nabbing from _Lobelia_ for tea to make up for it.”

Bofur, Fili, Kili, and Nori laughed.

Bilbo nodded. “Quite the trouble maker, Frodo. Still is, but his ideas of a joke usually consist of the best ways to make my hair as white as Balin’s beard.”

More laughter echoed around the room and Bilbo grinned at the audience he had, telling about one bit of mischief or that which Frodo had gotten into. But one did not laugh, though he listened attentively. Bilbo watched Thorin as he voiced memory after memory.

He didn’t regret his decision to leave, nor the decision to keep Frodo secret for so long. But looking at Thorin now (compared to when they showed up again), he did wonder if he had made the right decisions. He could believe that Thorin regretted what happened. He could believe that Thorin still loved him and wanted to make things right.

_Was I really so scared that he’d take my child from me? Was I so terrified of whom he had become that I was willing to keep him from the one thing that may have…no, I had every right to want to protect Frodo from him. Didn’t I? After what he tried to do to me—and, by extension, our son? I had every right to protect Frodo and at the time, that meant keeping him and Thorin apart…_

Bilbo sucked in a breath and stood. “Does anyone want some tea before we call it a night?”

He went to the kitchen and filled the kettle.

_What if I had decided to go back? What then?_

“Bilbo?”

He looked over his shoulder at Thorin. Maybe he could find out. He put the kettle over the fire and dried his hands before turning to him. “Yes?”

“Are you all right? You look a little…” He pointed at his eyes. Bilbo blinked and lowered his gaze to his hands.

“I, well, I’m just a bit melancholy tonight, I suppose. When did the sickness leave you?”

“I conquered it after you I banished you and had threatened to kill Dwalin.”

Bilbo looked up. “You threatened Dwalin?”

“Which only tells you how far I had fallen, I suppose. Climbing out of it wasn’t easy, but I managed it. I thought I would never see you again, and that meant I would never have the chance to tell you how sorry I was or how much I love you or that I would give my life to make it up to you. I don’t expect to be forgiven for what I did and I don’t expect you to.”

“Would you believe me if I said I did?”

“Yes. Whether I think you should is another matter entirely, but yes, I would believe you.”

“Do you understand why, given what happened that day, I didn’t tell you about Frodo?” Bilbo asked. Thorin sat down, hands folded on the table. “I know you wanted to be a father and I can’t imagine what it feels like to know that, as Frodo’s other parent, I chose to keep him a secret. I’m not sorry, I did what I thought was necessary to protect him.”

“I do understand why you took him. Believe it or not, there are those in the world who do not care for children and they will hurt them. Many mothers, and even fathers, are welcome in Dwarf Settlements if it means guaranteeing their children’s safety, from whoever wished them harm, even if it is their own kin. What I don’t understand is how you could have thought I would…now that I am here, with you and him, do you believe me? Do you really think I would wish my own son ill? That I could hurt him? I couldn’t. Bilbo, I wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” Bilbo said. “You don’t, Thorin. You couldn’t know it any more than I do. But thank you for trying to assure me, anyway. I know you did well with your nephews, but…” Thorin ran his hand through his hair and Bilbo massaged his throat. “I at least know I can trust you now, given where we are. And you’re advice on what to do about Mac’s and Frodo’s relationship and the strain it’s under has been valuable beyond measure.” Thorin nodded, staring at his hands. Bilbo glanced at the kettle before sitting down next to him. “Did I do to you what I feared you would do to me?”

Thorin looked at him. For a moment, they stared at each other and then Thorin took his hand. “No,” he said. “You were afraid I would take him in spite, that I would separate you and Frodo because I would want to hurt you. You left without even knowing you were with child and when you found out, you did what you could to protect him. I won’t deny that I am hurt by it, but you were protecting Frodo. How can I hold you at fault for protecting your child? I wish you had more faith in me, I wish you understood how much I cherish you and how knowing we were going to be parents would…”

“You wish I also didn’t take the stone.”

“What is the Arkenstone compared to you?” Bilbo tensed and pulled his hand away.

“Don’t.”

“You were who I valued above the stone. The only one. I can’t say, at the time, my actions were appropriate because they weren’t.”

“No, they weren’t. Valuing my word above those of your kin, whom you have known you’re entire life—that was not okay!”

“No it wasn’t. Nor was that what I meant. I know you know a little bit about what happened to me, but it wasn’t just a hereditary illness…my grandfather fell to it the day my grandmother died and his descent was gradual. For me, it was…I loved you, but I thought I lost you, and then I thought I lost my nephews and the dragon—it amplified it’s power to the point where _nothing_ but you could get through to me. Nothing else, so I…I treated like a piece of my treasure, I would have locked you away, kept you far from anyone’s eyes so they might not see you and therefore not be tempted to take you from me…I was…”

He exhaled, massaging his forehead. “I am not proud of what I did. Any of it. And a part of me had always hated who I was, even before then. I always felt like I failed my people, couldn’t do enough and never managed to succeed at anything. But when I broke out of the madness, broke whatever curse was on me, I decided I would rather be Thorin Oakenshield than King under the Mountain. You need only to have asked me and I would have followed you to the ends of the earth.”

Bilbo stood and took the kettle out of the fireplace. “We’re never going to find a place where we can…”

“I forgave you for taking the Arkenstone a long time ago,” Thorin said. “It’s not about that. It’s about whether you can forgive me enough to love me again. Truly, without doubt, and enough to let me be in your life as your other half as you are mine.”

Bilbo bit his lip and set the kettle down. “Tea’s ready if you’d like to help me get this out,” he said. “Cups are in the cupboard above the sink. The white ones with the green rim…though I suppose it doesn’t matter if they match…”

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, taking the pot from him. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve been having a hard time sleeping the last couple days, it’s nothing.”

“Why?”

Bilbo took the pot back and set it on the tray. “I said it’s _nothing_. You don’t need to worry about it. I promise. Could you get the tea cups? Please?”

“If nothing ends up being something, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

“Am I obligated to?” Bilbo snapped. Thorin’s eyebrows rose and Bilbo sighed. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I’m tired and worrying over something that may very well be silly.”

Thorin didn’t look convinced, but he pointed at the cupboard. “White with green rims above the sink?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “Thank you.”

After tea, the Dwarves went back to their house. Bilbo went to bed heavy hearted, clutching at his pillow and biting his lip.

_I love you. I want to tell you, but I don’t know what will happen if I do. I am sorry for making you doubt and for making you question how I feel for you. I can’t imagine that sort of burden. I’m sorry for everything, Thorin. I’m sorry. I love you and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

#

“Are you certain you want to stay,” Dori said, nudging Ori, who rolled his eyes. “No shame in changing your mind.”

“I’m _not_ changing my mind,” he muttered. “Dori, I can take care of myself and really? What could go wrong in the Shire?”

“And now you might have jinxed it.”

“Since when have you believed in jinxes?” Ori asked.

 Nori leaned on Ori’s head, smirking. “Yeah, Dori: when?”

“I worry, is all!”

“We know,” the two of them said. Ori elbowed Nori in the ribs faster than Nori could dance out of the way. Nori massaged his side, glaring at Ori.

“Dori, I will write, okay? I’ll keep in touch. Besides, I think this will be good for you, too. You take care of others too much to even think of taking care of yourself. Nori and I are adults now. We don’t need you as much anymore. I promise everything will be all right on my end. Just promise you’ll be all right on yours.”

Dori massaged his forehead. “Fine. I’ll drop it. Not like there’s much time left anyway for you to pack. Don’t waste your paper until you get word from me that we’re back home.”

“No in between updates?”

“What would be the point? They’d likely just get lost in the wild…Nori, what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said, patting Dwalin’s shoulder with a bright grin. Dori narrowed his eyes as he returned. Ori approached Dwalin.

“Do I want to know?”

“No more than the usual: promises of grievous bodily injury.”

“I still want to know how he figured us out.”

“He’s not Spy Master for nothing,” Dwalin said. “Them being gone will make things easier.”

“For us?”

“For everyone,” Dwalin said, smirking. Fili and Kili spotted them and their eyes widened before rushing off. Ori rolled his eyes. For a pair that outranked Dwalin, they were awfully terrified of him. “You, me, Thorin, Bilbo and the family.”

“I knew it.”

“Ori, they are counting on us. They should’ve made up by now!”

“I’m not surprised it’s taking so long, but they’re working on it themselves, aren’t they? I’m not pushing Bilbo in a lake so Thorin can save him. I’m pretty sure Bilbo will be acting like a hydrophobic cat.”

“Cats are already hydrophobic, _Mesmel_. Fili! Kili! Need a hand?” As he walked off, Ori smiled, crossing his arms. Dwalin was too sweet for his own good, but his plans were usually not as thought out as he liked to think they were.

And getting Bilbo and Thorin together would take tact, which Dwalin lacked. Greatly. Good thing Ori was here for damage control if nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the one, have another heartbreaking chapter.
> 
> On the other, Ori and Dwalin, whatever it is you're planning...I don't know whether to tie you to Dori's sack or wish you luck.


	39. Chapter 39

“It seems so quiet now that they’re gone,” Lobelia said, raising her teacup to her lips. “Where are the boys? I thought they’d be here for tea.”

“They’re actually with Thorin, Dwalin, and Ori. They _might_ be having tea. If not, I hope they get something to eat otherwise I’ll probably be overstrained at dinner.”

“Doubtful,” she said. “Those two lads are likely pilfering the Dwarves’ pantry as we speak.”

 _Considering they are at the house and not the forge_ , Bilbo thought as he nibbled on a biscuit. “One can hope,” he said.

“Have you received more letters from the Brandybucks?”

“Would it matter?” He had gotten them, all of them getting more and more strained in their politeness as they demand he send Mac home.

The rumors that reached him unintentionally were getting more and more scathing depending on who was spreading it. For instance, the old matrons were certain that Bilbo had kidnapped Mac or that there was something horrid going on behind closed doors. Lobelia, thankfully, remained an ever diligent ally and had shot down each and every rumor. And woe to anyone who were overheard by Bilbo and/or the Dwarves.

There were, also, happier rumors. Namely stating that they’d never heard of anyone fighting so hard to be together. Not since the odd union of Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins. Bilbo had never thought his parents would be considered a strange match, but thinking on it, it was a little strange. But at the same time, it wasn’t the same. They could have children and did. What made this more “scandalous” was that Mac and Frodo couldn’t have children of their own.

They were two non-bearers and they were fighting to be together. That was far more romantic and a far greater war to fight in than whatever trials his parents went through. It seemed that they were starting a trend that really got under the skin of many of the matrons and their husbands. Lobelia, however, seemed to be tickled by the idea rather than disapproving.

As it was, it seemed that Mac’s fiancée Annabelle Clover was in love with a lass and the two of them had been wondering at the possibility of Anna’s partner perhaps marrying Frodo (as others had done before so they could stay together and still please their families), but of course, were inspired by Mac’s escape from home and had run off together.

There was also a few other tweens, bearing and non-bearing alike, insisting on having their relationships recognized regardless of whether or not they could bear children. Many were blaming Frodo and Mac for this “rebellion” and many figured just to let them act it out. Others were not so merciful and most of them begged Bilbo to do something about it. If he put his foot down and sent Mac home, maybe…

He usually shrugged and said that he saw no reason for the boys to separate. Or any couple for that matter unless it was of their own free will. Some were trying to get Thorin involved as Frodo’s other parent, but that usually backfired hilariously.

“We may be blood, but I don’t technically have any parental rights,” he said. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t do what you want me to do anyway.”

If ever there was a way to endear Frodo to his Adad more…

And finding out that Dwalin and Ori were a non-bearing pair planning to wed had only encouraged “the Rebellion” so much that there were questions about whether tweens would be able to run away to the Blue Mountains. In fact, a pair of girls had attempted to do just that last week before getting caught by Rangers who took them home.

Ah, yes, the last month had been quite eventful.

“Are there any other rumors?” he asked.

“About your lad and his love life? None we’ve not heard before. More there are new whispers of something foul coming to the Shire. If so, we’ll manage. Your Dwarves have been hearing it too and are worried we’ll be overrun. The Tooks have been assuring Mr. Thorin that they’ve weathered many storms before. It’s not hard to muster a militia when the need arises.”

Bilbo nodded. “What sort of foul are we talking about?”

“Orcs, Goblins, you know: nothing we’ve not dealt with before.”

Bilbo nodded. Their nonchalance wasn’t out of ignorance. More that they really have managed before. Not to say they aren’t a threat to Hobbits in general, but that they have been dealt with before with success and there is no reason for them to not be successful again.

“Let’s hope it’s just that and not some organized group of Orcs. That can be…damaging.”

“Yes, you’ve been in battle before.”

“A couple times,” he said, deciding not to mention that the last time, he was pregnant. Knowing or not, it made him shiver as he realized he could have lost Frodo so easily that day.

Thank Yavanna he didn’t.

“Perhaps you could help with arranging the militia then,” Lobelia said. “We might need someone who has history in battle that is a Hobbit. No offense to your Dwarves, of course.”

“None taken,” Bilbo said. “Though they are seasoned warriors. Dwalin and Thorin would have a better time training us in defense if nothing else.”

“Defense is only half the training, I think,” Lobelia said, sipping her tea.

“You’re absolutely right,” Bilbo said, a little surprised. “And I am glad we are on the same side otherwise I hate to be on the end of your umbrella.” Lobelia smirked around the rim of her cup, ready to respond when the doorbell rang. Bilbo excused himself as he went to the door. “Lord Elrond,” Bilbo said. “Come in, please—mind your head.”

“I came as fast as I could once I received your letter,” he said. “Do you still have it? The ring?”

“Yes, it’s in my bedroom,” he said. “What’s this about? Elrond?”

“I will explain everything in a moment,” he said, entering the parlor. He nodded at Lobelia, who gaped at him. “I suppose I ought to have sent word, then?”

“Well, I was thinking it’d be Gandalf,” Bilbo admitted. “He’s more likely to stop by unexpected than an Elven Lord.”

“True,” Elrond said, managing a grin. “That is more like him, isn’t it?” He sat down on one of the couches, which were just big enough to sit him.

“I’ll, uh, get my ring,” Bilbo said, excusing himself, barely listening to the conversation Elrond and Lobelia begun as he fetched it. When he returned, Elrond stared at it and took a breath.

“Toss it in the fire, then take it out and put it on the table.”

“Are you mad?!” Lobelia snapped as Bilbo obeyed and fetched the tongs. He set the ring on a napkin and the strange script appeared. Elrond massaged his forehead and sighed.

“It is as I feared. Where did you get this?”

“Feared? Feared what?”

“Do you recall tell of a Necromancer in Dol Guldur twenty-some years ago? You would have been on the quest with Thorin Oakenshield.”

“It sounds familiar, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you where Dol Guldur is.”

“It was an enemy fortress south of the Greenwood.” Bilbo hummed.

“Gandalf left us at the forest border,” he said.

“He did. He went there to investigate the Necromancer, who, I regret to say, was Sauron.”

“Sauron is a myth,” Lobelia said.

“I wish I could assure you that he is, Madam,” Elrond said. “Sauron is no myth and that is his Ring of Power. I don’t know how you came by it, Bilbo, but it would explain why an army of Orcs and Goblins, as well as the reason why evil men constantly attack you on the road whenever you travel. I fear that you may also be in contact with the Hobbit prophesied to destroy this very Ring.”

“What do you mean?” Bilbo asked.

“It may be you, it may be someone you know…Possibly your son.”

“You are speaking as plain as Gandalf,” Bilbo said. “That is to say not plain at all! Elrond, tell me what is going on right now!”

Elrond leaned back in his seat, staring at the ring. “ _Seek for the sword that was broken; in Imladris it dwells. There shall be taken counsels stronger than Morgul-spells. There shall be shown a token that Doom is near at hand. For Isildur’s Bane shall waken, and the Halfling forth shall stand._ ”

“You do know we prefer _Hobbits_ ,” Lobelia grumbled.

“I am aware, but the writer of that prophecy was not. The sword in question is Narsil, the sword of the king of Gondor, the very sword that cut that very ring from the hand of Sauron himself. There is something stirring in the south. Whatever it is, it is not good and I fear that it is only getting stronger. Whatever is going on is centered around this Ring.”

Bilbo massaged his forehead. “There had been more trouble this year than before on the road and in the Blue Mountains,” he said. “I was kidnapped and Frodo had to leave the mountain to stay with Thorin in the Grey Havens for a short time. And Frodo never liked my Ring. He only wore it when I needed him to, but he always said he hated it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you telling me that my child is going to walk into Mordor and destroy it?”

“It need not be him,” Elrond said. “I know much, but this I cannot say. It could be any Hobbit strong enough to wield it. As far as I am concerned, your love for your son overpowers your desire for the Ring. Am I right?”

Bilbo nodded. “There is another thing. The last time I wore it, I saw a great eye. It said it would take the thing I loved most and destroy it.”

“You saw Sauron,” Elrond said. “And he is, so it seems, convinced that Frodo is the chosen Hobbit of legend, which would make the term Halfling a little more accurate as Frodo is half-Dwarf, and a son of Durin, a Prince of Erebor.”

“And that means something?!”

“Sauron hates Durin’s Folk above all the other Dwarves as they fought with me and the Men of Gondor in the Last Alliance. I am sure there is more to it than just that, but that is all I know of his hatred and curse on them.”

Bilbo leaned forward, shaking his head. “I can’t let this go on. Now that I know, I can’t just keep it to send my child into Mordor! I won’t.”

“Bilbo—”

“Hang the prophecy!” he shouted, startling Elrond and Lobelia. “Tell me what to do! Show me the way and I will take it to Mordor. I am _not_ letting my child, no matter how old he is when the time comes, go into that land!”

Elrond stared at him, as though attempting to dare him to stand down.

“I’ll go with you,” Lobelia said. “Someone with an inkling of sense should go. Besides, I helped you give birth to him and have been there every step of the way. I’m not letting him go into the fire either any more than I would allow you to die trying.”

Bilbo shook his head. “I can’t ask that of you. Otho—”

“Oh, if you think he wouldn’t come if I asked, you’re as mad as everyone says. Otho might not be as reckless as you are, but he is a Baggins and Bagginses are the most stubborn fools I’ve ever known. He’ll come.”

Elrond crossed his arms. “I would first bring it to Rivendell so we could chart a course and appoint a proper guard for you, Bilbo, if you insist on going yourself.”

“I do.”

“I would bring Frodo with you as well,” he said. “If only to keep him in Rivendell where he can be protected from whatever may come for him.”

Bilbo nodded. “I will, ah, also want to talk to Thorin.”

“I would leave soon.”

“Give it a week at most,” Lobelia said. “You’re not running off into the blue this time. There are legal things to take care of.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t want any unwanted kinsmen trying to steal my house while I’m gone,” he said, arching a brow at her. “At least I won’t have to worry about it being you.”

“Of course,” she said a little too sweetly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it looks like we will be going into the Bilbo carries the Ring trope...not sure whether to be sorry about that or not as there are a lot of those and I was not intending it at all.


	40. Chapter 40

“What do you mean Mac can’t come?!” Frodo shot, jumping to his feet. “You can’t just send him back to Brandy Hall! His parents will make him marry Annabelle! Everything that’s been going on the last month will fall apart if you send him away now!”

“Frodo, I understand this upsets you,” Bilbo said calmly. “But it’s too dangerous for Mac to come with us. He hasn’t any weapons training and even if he had, it’s risky enough taking you with me to Rivendell.”

Frodo began pacing. “Yeah, and you haven’t told me a thing about _why_ we’re going.”

Bilbo swallowed. “And I will as soon as everyone else comes. I’m not saying you _should_ give up. I don’t want the two of you to give up on fighting for your love any more than the others do, but this is more important.”

“How?” Frodo snapped. “What is so important that we have to leave the Shire for years?! Why do I have to go? Why can’t I just stay here?”

“We’ve left the Shire before.”

“Not for half a decade! You said that’s how long this journey might take!”

“It might not. It don’t know.”

“You are not making any sense!”

Mac stood and took Frodo’s arm. “Maybe we should let your dad explain, okay? And he said he would, so maybe it is very important, Frodo. And I’m all right with waiting. I won’t neglect to write again and when I’m able to, I’ll go to Rivendell, too.”

“And when will that be? A year? Two? Would you even be able to survive a month in the wild?”

“ _Frodo_ ,” Bilbo said. Frodo looked at him, then back at Mac. His shoulders slumped.

“I’m sorry. I just…I don’t want to go.”

Mac managed a smile. “I know,” he said. “I know you don’t and I don’t want you to go, but some things can’t be helped. If we were older, I’m sure there wouldn’t even be any discussion about it.”

“Thank you, Mac,” Bilbo said, massaging his forehead. By Yavanna, why is it when he tried to treat Frodo like an adult, the lad _had_ to go and act like a brat? Why? Ironically, Mac was the more mature one while also the more apt to prank you blind.

Frodo sat down, slumped back in the chair with his legs and arms crossed, fixing his Durin-Glare (though Bilbo never did tell him he looked so much like his Sire when he glowered like that) on Bilbo while Mac offered to put tea on.

Tea would be good, Bilbo thought. Something calming for everyone, especially given his frayed nerves right now.

Mac set the fresh pot of tea down and sat beside Frodo, whispering in his ear, just as someone knocked on the door. Bilbo excused himself to admit Thorin, Dwalin, and Ori.

“Now will you tell us what this is about?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo huffed and glanced at the parlor where the boys still were. “You’re not going to like it,” he said.

“Does Frodo?”

“All I’ve told him is that he’ll be in Rivendell while we’re…you know what? Let’s go into the parlor first, everyone get a cup of tea, and _then_ I’ll explain.” With that, the trio followed him awkwardly inside and once everyone had a cup in hand, Bilbo started with the dream he had, sending word to Elrond and Gandalf, and ending with Elrond’s arrival the previous day.

After that, the room was far too quiet. A thick silence that seemed to suffocate you and that a drop of a penny would make you jump in fright. Thorin had long set his cup down and leaned forward, hiding his face in his hands.

At last he spoke.

“You have had _Sauron’s_ Ring of Power all this time?” he asked, nearly growling. “You let _Frodo_ wear it?”

“I did not know that my ring was _the_ Ring. I thought it was just a normal enchantment. And how was I supposed to know? Besides, you weren’t exactly spitting warnings or vile things about it when it helped me get you all out of Mirkwood and survive Smaug!”

Thorin huffed. “Fine. You have a point, but now that we know what it is—”

“Yeah, that’s what I was about to get to. I had hoped there’d be more questions, but all in all, I think that Sauron believes Frodo is…destined to destroy it. And the only way to destroy it is at it’s place of birth.”

“Mordor,” Ori said.

“No,” Thorin growled. “Absolutely not. I am not letting you—”

“I’m going instead,” Bilbo said. Frodo’s eyes widened. “Elrond promised that Frodo would be well protected in Rivendell, which is why we’re going there first.”

“I’m not letting you go either!” Thorin snapped. “Not after all I’ve worked to get you back!”

“We’re not back together. Not yet,” Bilbo reminded him.

“You’re not?” Frodo asked. “I thought you were.”

“We’re _not_ ,” Bilbo assured him. Where he got the idea that they were was beyond him, but _more important things_ were at stake than where Frodo heard a rumor that silly. “And I am going. I’m not letting my child— _our_ child—walk into Mordor. Let alone get anywhere _close_ to those gates. With that in mind, I will carry it and I will destroy it.”

“Are you sure you can?” Ori asked. “Destroy it, I mean. You’ve carried it for over twenty years now. Won’t it be hard?”

“I’m quite sure it will be,” Bilbo said. “But I don’t see any other options. I’ve written Lóf and Míl already. Hopefully they’ll respond soon and I’ll know if they’re interested in joining us. Perhaps not, and I won’t blame them if they decide not to come with me. Lobelia should be talking to Otho about it soon if she hasn’t already and that is considering she didn’t change her mind. I’m not asking, but if you decide this isn’t something you can do, then by all means stay behind. In which case, you’ll likely be spending a _lot_ of time with Frodo since it’s the _only_ way I will allow him to stay in the Shire while I’m gone.”

Thorin gaped at him and Frodo looked ashen. Dwalin seethed and Ori stared at his hands. Mac had pulled his legs up to his chin at some point, half hidden by his knees. Thorin shook his head. “Of course I’ll go with you,” he said. “But if anything were to happen to us, what then?”

“I was thinking Frodo could go to Erebor till he was old enough. Stay with your sister and nephews till he was of age and from there…” He glanced at Frodo. He was still shaken. “Frodo? Are you okay with this?”

Frodo blinked at him. He opened his mouth, closed it, and bit his lip. He stood and fled the room. Bilbo didn’t expect him to be okay with it, after all.

#

_In light of recent undisclosed discoveries, I, Bilbo Baggins, and my son, Frodo Baggins, will be leaving the Shire for time indefinite from June 30 th onward. _

_As of this time, I name Hamfast Gamgee and his family stewards of Bag End and bequeath the house Bag End and all its contents to him and his kin on five years to the date barring mine and/or Frodo’s return…_

Bilbo set the will down and massaged his forehead. This was harder than he thought. How did anyone do this? His initial plan was the leave everything to Frodo, but if anything happened to him, well…he wasn’t even sure what would become of them.

For now, he and Thorin agreed that if anything were to happen to them on the quest and neither of them were able to be there for Frodo that he’d go to Erebor and stay with his cousins and aunt.

Otho had all but accused Bilbo of corrupting his wife, but had surprisingly agreed to come along as well, though he wasn’t all that keen on going all the way to Mordor.

Bilbo also sent word to Lóf and Míl, inviting them to join him, his cousins, Frodo, Thorin, Ori, and Dwalin. He was still waiting for their reply.

Elrond had sent word to the Dunedain rangers, requesting Aragorn’s presence as well. Whether he replied or not, Bilbo did not know. Perhaps in time they would.

“Dad?”

Bilbo looked up at Frodo and managed a small smile. “Yes?”

“I know I have to go, but if Mac goes home, his parents might see it as a defeat. Can’t he come too? I mean, I’m just going to stay in Rivendell, right? Why can’t he go to Rivendell with us?”

“Well, I suppose I understand why you don’t want them to think you’re giving up or that you broke up,” Bilbo said, massaging his forehead. “And I really wish I could say yes, lad. As it stands, this is going to be a dangerous journey enough for seasoned warriors such as Thorin and Dwalin and all we’re going to do right now is get to you to Rivendell as safely as we possibly can. If I could be sure you were safe in the Shire, I would be all right with the two of you staying at the Gamgees. I can’t guarantee that any of us are going to live.”

Frodo stiffened at that and Bilbo stood. “Frodo,” he said, taking his shoulders. “You’re a strong boy and I know you will be a great Hobbit one day.”

“Dwobbit.”

Bilbo bowed his head, groaning. “Not you too!”

Frodo managed a small smile and Bilbo rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Dwobbit it is. What does it matter? It’s beside the point.”

“And the point is?”

“That I am proud of whom you’ve become. It’s been a rather strange year so far, I know, but you’ve handled it better than I ever thought you would. It’s gotten stranger, I know that, and I know this isn’t fair. Life rarely is, but you know what? We’ll get through this as we always have.”

He pulled Frodo into an embrace. “I’m so proud of you, my lad. I love you. I love you so much.”

He shook and hoped that Frodo didn’t realize it. He swallowed and stepped back, smiling. “Are you hungry? We’ve still lots in the pantry that we need to get rid of.”

Frodo nodded, frowning. So he did sense it. Bilbo straightened his waistcoat and went to make the lads something to eat.

#

Frodo wrapped his arms around Mac’s waist, nose pressed against his shoulder as he thought it through.

Finding out that you might be a foretold savior or hero was both exhilarating and frightening. And the last few days, he’d thought on it a lot. He knew it was getting to his Dad and, when he didn’t know, Frodo could see him drinking, trying to gather his wits about what was to come.

Sometimes, he’d find him crying though Bilbo was trying to hide it. Trying and often failing, though Frodo let him think he was hiding it just fine.

All in all, though, as Frodo thought about it, he wondered if his Dad would even really be able to carry it out. He had the Ring for years and while, given what Elrond said it could and had done to others in the past, Bilbo was very resilient to it, Frodo was more resilient if what he’d understood had anything to do about it. Perhaps it was because of his Dwarven heritage, too…

He wasn’t sure though. He couldn’t ever be sure.

But he had to try and sooner the better, right?

With a shuddering breath, he kissed Mac’s shoulder, squeezing him a little before getting out of bed and sneaking to get one of his grandmother’s old chains. He tiptoed into BIlbo’s room and found the Ring in the dresser.

The moment his finger touched it, he felt watched and his heart beat rapidly. He held it in his fist and closed the drawer, fleeing the room and stringing it through the chain before clasping it around his neck and went to the study. He almost bumped into the trunk and winced when the hinges creaked.

Frodo looked about, heart in his throat. Relieved to find that no one heard him, he pulled the mithril shirt out and tugged it over his tunic before grabbing his own sword, strapping it to his waist.

His last thought before stepping out of Bag End and into the dark night was that Bilbo was going to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm...yes, this chapter was inspired by Mulan. I am SORRY!!!


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update yesterday. Hit some writer's block. Here it is now!

Bilbo had been angry on many occasions with Frodo’s antics. But usually “angry” was closer to cross. No, he’d never felt this sort of fury toward his son before and directing his anger at Mac would in no way help him or calm the poor boy down.

If Bilbo was angry, Mac wasn’t much better. There’d been no news from the Rangers yet and the Man Bilbo had yelled at had done all he could to assure him that they’d find Frodo that morning. It was nearing evening now and Bilbo was tearing through the house, looking for clues to what Frodo had done while Mac stayed out of his way.

It hadn’t taken long for him to piece the whole thing together.

Frodo had taken the ring, likely did what he could to ensure he wouldn’t lose it by tying it to one of Belladonna’s necklaces, and his evasion either meant he’d actually put the damn thing on or he’d avoided the roads and managed to evade the rangers.

Bilbo’s only comfort was that Frodo would still be in the Shire for a few days more.

Thorin returned after supper, chucking his boots off and found Bilbo in the parlor, smoking. “No news from the Rangers, I take it.”

“None,” Bilbo growled lowering his pipe. “I don’t know what else we can do. Do we go after him?”

“Not tonight,” Thorin said. “We’ll leave at first light. Have you any idea where he might have gone.”

“Well, he took the Ring,” Bilbo said, raising the lip of his pipe back to his mouth. “Does that mean anything to you?”

“Shit.”

“Quite the understatement,” Bilbo muttered. He blew out the smoke, too stressed to even bother with smoke rings. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with him…sometimes I wonder if he intends to be the death of me!”

“I survived Kili, didn’t I? Frodo is much more preferable.”

“Kili didn’t run off with something that could literally destroy the world.”

“True,” Thorin said, sitting down. “But he ran off all the time to hunt and we didn’t exactly live anywhere safe enough for a tweenage Dwarf to run off on his own. I was often running off in the middle of the night to go find him. Frodo…my guess is that he doesn’t think you can handle what’s to come.”

“I _can_ handle it.”

“I know that. You know that. But that’s the funny thing about destiny. Sometimes, there’s no way around it. Frodo has it. We know where he’s going. He’s a few hours ahead of us and if he didn’t take a horse, we can easily catch up to him.”

“So you say,” Bilbo sighed. “I don’t know, Thorin. I’m scared. For him, for us. I know we must go, but I don’t want to.”

“You’d be a fool not to be scared,” Thorin said. “I’m terrified. I look like I have it together, but I’ve never been so afraid in my life.” He took Bilbo’s free hand in his and kissed it. “I love you, and I will follow you. I want to be by your side. I want to be with you to the end of our days. I want to see our son grow up into the man he’s meant to be. I don’t this any more than you do. We will catch up to him. You’ll yell at him and maybe the two of you will fight, but I’m on your side in this. We will take care of it. Frodo will not go to Mordor if we can help it. We just need to catch up to him first.”

Bilbo nodded and set the pipe down. “I don’t like this.”

“I know.”

“You’re certain we’ll catch up to him.”

“He’s one child. One very foolhardy child. We’ll catch up to him, one way or another.” Thorin kissed his forehead and stood. “I need to go home. Will you be all right on your own?”

“Mac is still here.”

“He is, but is it the same?”

Bilbo shook his head. “No. It is not.”

“Didn’t think so,” Thorin said. He let go of Bilbo’s hand. “I’ll see you in the morning, Bilbo.”

“In the morning.”

Thorin left and Bilbo leaned forward, holding his head in his hands.

_Please, Yavanna and Aule, if you have any mercy, be with my son. Protect him for me till I can get to him. Please…_

#

Frodo tied himself to the tree he had climbed. It was the furthest from comfortable he’d ever been in his life, but given how many Rangers he’d almost run into through the day, they’d likely be expecting him to sleep on the ground.

He wasn’t intending to get caught any time soon and it’d be rather embarrassing if the caught him after one day on the road, so sleeping in a tree in the Old Forest was his best and perhaps only choice for survival.

Sleep, on the other hand, alluded him, which rather got to him. He’d been on the road all day. His body needed the rest, and yet the wind, the rustling leaves, the odd sounds in the dark…it all kept him awake, never really lulling into the sleep he needed.

The trees creaked in the wind. In the distance was a voice singing, low and ethereal. He could barely make out the words, but as it grew closer, the more scared he became. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying when he saw something approach the tree. He shut his eyes tightly, heart hammering against his chest as if it were an anvil.

“What brings such a young Hobbit so close to my home so late at night, hiding in a tree like a bird?” The newcomer asked.

Frodo opened his eyes and gasped. The Man was staring at him, balanced on the end of the branch as though he were weightless.

“Bad time to be camping. Especially alone,” he said.

“I’m fine,” Frodo said. “And I don’t need help.”

The man thrust his hand out. “No, you’re not. Sure, you do. Tom Bombadil, at your service, little master. You shouldn’t be wandering alone at night as you are.”

“Well, as you see, I’m _not_ wandering.”

“Distrustful sort you are. For a Hobbit, you’ve a lot of Dwarf in you.” His grin widened. “You must be the one the Rangers have been looking for.”

“I’d like to keep it that way, thanks.”

Tom Bambadil lowered his hand. “You can stay here and not get any sleep or you can come with me and the trees will not conspire to hurt you. You can have breakfast with me and my wife and we will make sure you get out of the Forest without being found. Any direction you wish to go, I will take you to it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Frodo curled his fingers around the hilt of his sword. “Thank you, but I think I can manage on my own.”

Bombadil shrugged and stood. “You’re loss,” he said before he jumped. “I will have a word with Old Man Willow. He’ll call them off.”

He left and Frodo leaned back against the tree, wondering if, not for the first time, this was a bad idea. But it faded to the back of his mind as he finally managed to drift to sleep…

He woke to the sound of sizzling and the smell of fish. Frodo opened his eyes and spotted the Man from last night squatting beneath the tree and poking at the fish. Frodo untied himself from the tree and climbed back down.

“Good morning, little Dwarf-Hobbit,” he said. “I bet you’re hungry.”

“Why should I trust a think you make?”

Bombadil motioned for him to sit. Frodo did so, one hand on the hilt of his sword. He took one of the fish and bit into the meat. “I’ve no intention to poison or drug you, lad. I don’t care whether or not you go home or on your way. The faster you’re out of this forest, the better.”

“Why?”

“The trees don’t like folk, big or small. Save me and my Goldberry.”

Frodo’s stomach growled and he took the second fish, biting into it. It was buttered and meaty. He could taste a little rosemary, too.

“Say I do trust you,” Frodo said between bites. “What would you get out of it?”

“What makes you think I’m the sort who looks out for himself?”

“Everybody is that kind of person. No one is truly selfless, after all.”

“I don’t get anything. You get out of here before the trees get it back in their head to hurt you before anything happens. Still, it’s very dangerous for a Hobbit to travel alone, even if he is a Dwarf-Hobbit.”

“I prefer ‘Dwobbit’,” Frodo muttered. “Not that it matters to you, does it?” He finished the fish and stood. “Thank you for breakfast. And I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be right here.”

Frodo rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath about crazy Men. He trekked the forest till night and several times thought that he ought to have found his way out by now. At the end, he found himself at the tree again. And Bombadil grinned at him.

“Took you long enough.”

“What did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything. This forest can be very tricky. You go in circles when you think you’re going straight. Let me help you. In the morning, of course.”

“My parents could already be on their way to find me! I can’t let them!”

“Well, there’s little I can do about that now. Have something to eat and we’ll leave after breakfast tomorrow.”

Frodo sat down, trying to shove down the overwhelming frustration as Bombadil handed him some berries and leaves to eat.


	42. Chapter 42

When he woke again, it was to the sound of rain hitting the leaves and he wondered how he had avoided getting soaked until he opened his eyes to see a large leaf covering him.

Frodo frowned and sat up, mindful not to bump the leaf and accidently drench himself. He crawled out and wiped the mud off his hands and on his pants.

Bombadil grinned. “Hungry?” he asked, holding out a small leaf filled with berries.

Frodo thanked him and took the berries.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to satisfy the worst of his hunger for the time being. Frodo wished for a bath and shelter, but a meager meal of berries wasn’t too bad. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to have either until Bree. And that was if he managed to dodge more rangers.

“Thanks,” he said, holding the leaf awkwardly. “Now will you show me how to get out of here?”

“Of course, I’ll take you to the border of the forest and from there, you should be able to make it to Bree safely enough.”

“And avoid rangers?”

“Once out of the forest, I have no sway over that. But you managed to avoid them this long. I imagine you can do it again.”

Frodo nodded.

He gathered his things and followed the man into the forest, listening to him sing.

#

There’d been no sign of him in the forest since they entered and now that they’d left the borders of the Shire, they headed toward Bree. Bilbo was resisting the urge to get his hopes up of finding Frodo there. Dwalin and Ori had agreed to stay behind in case Frodo changed his mind and came back, and also for Míl and Lóf while Lobelia and Otho took care of their affairs—and Bilbo’s.

Ori, thankfully, promised to help enforce it in such a way that would ensure that the SB’s wouldn’t swindle his house from under him. Thorin spoke to the porter while Bilbo looked around.

The gates opened and they went inside, heading for the inn.

Inside, Bilbo approached the barkeep. “Has a young Hobbit stopped in? Black hair? Very blue eyes?”

“Indeed there has,” the barkeep said. “He’s having dinner. Intends to leave in the morning. Seems quite young…”

“Yes, well, here’s hoping that’s my son,” Bilbo growled. “Could you, ah, point me in his general direction?” the Man pointed at a corner. Bilbo thanked him and tapped Thorin’s shoulder, motioning for him to follow and praying that it was Frodo in that corner.

It was.

And he’d been spotted.

Frodo swore and jumped on the table, trying to escape over the crowd. He knocked into a large Man, who seized him around the neck.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY SON!!!” Bilbo shouted, pulling Sting free and pressed it into the man’s neck. The inn grew quiet and the man let Frodo go. He jumped off the table and the Man held his hands up. Once Frodo was by Bilbo’s side, Bilbo grabbed the collar of Frodo’s shirt, sheathed Sting. “How about we go somewhere we can talk privately. Did you get a room?”

“Yes,” Frodo said.

“Good. Where is it?”

Frodo led them down the hall and into a room. Finally, Bilbo let go and Thorin locked the door. There was so much Bilbo wanted to do. He wanted to be angry and he still was. But at the moment, his anger was gone. It hadn’t disappeared, but it was relief that seemed more prevalent right now.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Other than what just happened, are you hurt?”

“No. Dad, I’m fine.”

Bilbo pressed his forehead to Frodo’s, sighing. “What were you thinking?”

“Uh…I wasn’t?”

“No, you certainly weren’t,” Bilbo said. “Do you have it still?”

Frodo pulled it out. It hung around his neck and Bilbo’s anger seemed to flare up again.

“Give it to me.”

“Why?” Frodo asked.

“It is mine—”

“ _Bilbo_ ,” Thorin snapped. Bilbo turned to him. “Can I speak with you? Privately? Frodo wait outside a moment, will you?” Frodo left. Once the door closed, Thorin sat on the bed. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “I’m fine. He’s all right. I couldn’t be happier. I’m still angry, of course, but we’ll deal with that in a bit.”

“Right now, I more concerned about you demanding he hand the ring over.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think I really understood how gold madness affects those around us till just now. For a minute, it really looked like you were more concerned about the ring than you were our son.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Bilbo said, crossing his arms. “I don’t value the ring more than Frodo. I never have. I don’t want it around his neck because it’s a beacon for whatever’s after him.”

“He hates it. He won’t put it on. You know that. I know that. He managed this long.”

“I’ve managed longer.”

“And I’ve been wondering if this is wise. In the end, I think the less contact you have with it the better.”

“What? You think you can carry it?”

“No. But Frodo can. He just did. Constant contact for nearly a week. He did well. I’m impressed. I’m not happy with him taking it and running off like he did, but regardless, he did very well. He got it this far. And I’m not saying we should let him take it to Mordor. Mahal forbid! No. But I think if he is our son maybe the two of us together should share the burden. Right now, I don’t think you should be near it.”

Bilbo massaged his forehead. “Did it really look…” Thorin nodded. Bilbo sat on the bed and ran his hand through his hair. “Yavanna’s tits…”

“Bilbo,” Thorin took his hands, “We can work together on this, can’t we? Share it? If Frodo, who is our son, is destined to do this, then maybe the two of us combined could be enough. Hopefully. I won’t let you fail if you won’t let me.”

“The last time I tried anything like that, you tried to kill me.”

“I think we’ve established that I wasn’t in my right mind nor would I have ever done anything to hurt you if I had been. I’m doing all I can to get your trust back. Can’t you trust me enough with this?”

“Of course I can. But if I just acted like…like you did…I don’t know if I can do this.”

Thorin kissed his hands. “You won’t be alone,” he promised. “I am with you to the end for as long as you will have me.”

Bilbo smiled weakly. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate that.” He pulled his hands free and sighed. “I’ll let Frodo back in.” Thorin nodded and Bilbo opened the door. Frodo stood, arms crossed and eying Bilbo warily. It hurt to see him guarded, but he understood. “Come inside,” he said. Frodo did so, still cautious.

“I know I’m in trouble for running off, but I figured get it done sooner rather than later.”

“I see,” Bilbo said, shutting the door. “You are _not_ going to Mordor.”

“If we can prevent you from having to go, we will,” Thorin said. “You’re a brave lad, Frodo, but what sort of parents would we be if we let you take on this venture? Destiny or no, they’ll have to kill us first.”

“We’ve come up with a way to get through this that _might_ work.”

“ _Might_ work?”

“We won’t know till we try.”

“And if you fail? If the ring goes back to him? What then? Isn’t the risk too great?”

“It is a big risk,” Thorin said.

“Frodo, everything I’ve done since you were born was meant to protect you,” Bilbo said. “I have to try. Whatever may come next, that will always by my job. Protecting you will come first. If I don’t try to do this, if I do let you go, then I have failed as your father.”

“You don’t know if I’ll die.”

“You don’t know if you’ll survive. And we can hope you do, but it’s too big of a risk.”

Frodo bit his lip, blinking. “But I don’t want to lose you either, Dad.”

Bilbo hummed. “Nor do I want to die,” he said. “But I’m old. I might not look it, lad, but I am. It is not right for the young to die for the sake of those who came before. No. I would rather die knowing you are safe and well than live knowing I allowed you to walk into the Abyss. I do not care what happens to the world. I only care that you live to adulthood, that you marry, that you’re happy, and that you live a long fulfilling life, even if it is a dull one. This burden, it may be yours, but you are my child and I will lighten it if I can.”

“But the prophecy…”

“Hang it,” Thorin said. “We aren’t puppets the Valar can manipulate. Not unless we let them. We aren’t going to let them use you as a means to an end. Not like Gandalf would. Or Elrond. Even if it is true and you are meant to carry it, we’re your parents. They’d have to kill us before you take up this task.”

Frodo nodded, still close to tears. Bilbo embraced him and kissed his forehead. “I’m still mad, yes. But we’ll worry about that later. Right now, we need to eat and you need to rest. We’ll discuss this more later. Understood?”

“Yes, Dad.”

Bilbo kissed him again. “Go get ready for bed, lad. Everything’s going to be all right.”

_Would it, though?_

He wasn’t sure anymore.


	43. Chapter 43

Thorin sent letters to the others while Bilbo thought out a fitting punishment for Frodo running away like that.

Understanding why was one thing.

Letting it go unpunished was another.

What it was with his boy and his desire to put his life in danger, well, Bilbo didn’t know and he wasn’t sure if he even _wanted_ to know. All he did know was that he wasn’t all that keen in letting Frodo put his life on the line.

What sort of parent would let their child waltz off to war, or to Mordor in this case?

In fact, Bilbo wasn’t sure he’d have let Frodo go even if Frodo was a legal, responsible adult. True, it would be unlikely that he could stop him then, but he could at least voice his displeasure at sending Frodo on such a dangerous quest.

 _And to think_ , a voice in the back of his head whispered. _Had you not found out what the ring was recently, you might have had no choice_.

It was not a pleasant thought to have, Bilbo decided as he went downstairs to speak with the bartender. The Man nodded at Bilbo as he entered the room.

“Sleep well, little master?”

“Well enough,” Bilbo said, ignoring the “little.” Big Folk never changed. “I was wondering if you had a little extra work for my boy. To repay you for whatever damages he sustained on your establishment.”

“’Fraid not,” he said. “Why?”

“Well, as you have guessed, he ran away. Reasons why are private, but we’ll be heading off to Rivendell soon. We’ve more companions on the way to join us and we’ll be meeting here.”

“Well, if you’re thinking of signing him up for some manual labor and save up some coin for your journey, the stables need a stable boy, even if it is a temporary fix.”

“Horses or ponies?”

“Both.”

Bilbo hummed. “I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

The man nodded again and Bilbo requested three breakfast platters to be brought to their room along with a pot of tea.

With that, he went back to the new room they shared.

Though Frodo still slept, Thorin was awake and brushing his hair. Bilbo shut the door and leaned against it, watching him comb his hair. It was longer, coming down to almost under his shoulder blades now.

Bilbo wanted to approach him, brush his hair over his shoulder and kiss his neck, feel the powerful muscles move under his hands again. He wanted to whisper _I love you_ in his ear and feel his beard against his mouth and neck again.

Instead, he cleared his throat and Thorin turned to him, blinking.

“Breakfast will be here soon,” he said.

Thorin nodded and finished brushing his hair before grabbing his tunic and pulling it on. “I take it the barkeep had something for Frodo?”

“He suggested the stables, but I’m not sure if Frodo can handle horses. Were they just ponies, I wouldn’t hesitate to take him down. But horses are a bit too big for my liking.”

“I’m sure someone needs help somewhere, even if just till the others come. It shouldn’t take longer than ten days, I wager,” Thorin said as he pulled on his boots, hiding his delicate, small feet much to Bilbo’s chagrin.” Thorin looked up and arched a brow. “You’re staring.”

“So?” Bilbo asked, heat rising to his cheeks.

Thorin’s mouth curved into a smirk. “Why are you staring?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Don’t be arrogant, Thorin.”

“Around you? Never.”

“Shut up. It’s too early to flirt,” Frodo groaned, pulling his pillow over his head. Bilbo massaged his forehead and cleared his throat.

He approached the table and cleared it of the parchment littering it from the night before as they tried to work out a path, setting them on his bed instead. Bilbo shook Frodo’s leg.

“Breakfast will be here soon,” he said. “Time to get up, Lad.”

“Never,” Frodo said, voice muffled under his pillow. Bilbo sighed and pulled the sheets off. Frodo yelped and curled into a ball, refusing to get up.

“Frodo.”

“You can’t make me.”

“What part of breakfast escapes you? This is highly unusual.”

“The part where it’s too cold and too early and these beds aren’t that comfy, but damn if I don’t want to stay.”

“You’ve traveled before.”

“I know. There were no beds or stops there.”

“If you’re coherent, you’re awake,” Thorin said.

“And breakfast will be hot.”

Frodo sat up. “Fine. Only because it’s hot.”

He wasn’t kidding about being cold if the goosebumps were any indication. He stood and went to dress and wash his face before picking the blanket back up and sitting cross legged on his bed, wrapped up in said blanket.

Bilbo tried not to laugh and let the maid in. She set the trays on the table, bowed, and left. Frodo shuffled over to the seat closest to him.

“Frodo,” Bilbo said. “The blanket.”

Frodo glared at him, but took it off and set it on the bed.

“You’re having too much fun with this,” Thorin said.

“What? It’s funny.”

“And the manual labor you were thinking of putting him through?”

“I can hear you,” Frodo said around his toast. “And if you think manual labor is going to work this time, Dad, then you _really_ need to step up your game.”

Thorin snorted, joining him, as Bilbo glared at Frodo. The bright grin on his face didn’t help.

“Well, then, I suppose I will. Thorin.”

“Yes?”

“Were Fili and Kili to have run away with a dangerous artifact, regardless the reason why, what sort of punishment would you choose?”

Thorin swallowed and took a sip of tea, smirking. “Dwalin.”

“Dwalin?”

“Dwalin.”

“Well, we do have access to Dwalin.”

“Indeed we do.”

“And I should be afraid of Dwalin?” Frodo asked, incredulous.

“You should be terrified,” Thorin said. “Once Dwalin gets his hands on you, you won’t be able to move. For a week. It’ll hurt. Lots.” As Thorin explained what he was in for, Frodo paled and looked generally uncomfortable. He looked at Bilbo, who nodded. He had seen Dwalin at work. After the trolls and the ponies, Fili and Kili were sent to him. They hadn’t been able to move comfortably for three days out of the two weeks they had been there.

Bilbo had pitied them, then, but for this situation…

He could waive a little pity given how worried he’d been.

“Dad?” Frodo begged.

“I think it’s brilliant.”

“C’mon!”

Bilbo sat down and at last gave into his hunger, happy to have gotten this all settled sooner than he thought.

#

Somewhere in the vast forest, a group of nine rode westward, seeking their master’s keepsake. They were unified, strong, and had no will.

Not anymore.

Not for hundreds of years. Maybe thousands.

They sought the Ring.

They sought the blood of its bearer.

They could almost _taste it…_

#

Frodo woke screaming and tearing at his throat. Bilbo jumped out of his bed and took Bilbo’s wrists in his hands, pulling them from his neck.

“Get it off me!” Frodo shrieked. “Get it off!”

Bilbo yanked the chain off and set the ring aside. “It’s okay, lad,” he said. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Thorin strode to the door opening it to assure the neighbors everything was all right and that it was simply a nightmare. Once everyone had gone back to bed, Thorin looked at the ring with more loathing than Bilbo had ever seen.

Then they looked at each other. “It needs to go.”

“And it will,” Bilbo whispered, petting Frodo’s hair. “It will.”


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much in the way of plot, but methinks confetti will be thrown anyway.

Thorin wasn’t known for being forgiving. It was part of his fault. When he trusted, he put all his trust in that person till they, no matter what the reason, betray him. As a child, his mother warned him to be wary. He would never be in a position where he could trust someone so unconditionally.

And then there was Bilbo. Bilbo who had no hidden agenda for getting closer to Thorin. He just…did. There wasn’t a day that went by where Thorin didn’t think on what he destroyed that day he threatened the love of his life.

He had been a coward, aye. He should have gone after Bilbo as soon as he’d lost him. But duty and cowardice went hand in hand. No one called him a coward, aye, but it didn’t change that he left Bilbo to let his anger at him fester while raising their son.

Their son, who is destined to save the world…

Oh there can be pride in that, and Thorin knew that they might be taking Frodo’s chance for glory away, but he couldn’t see it that way. He just couldn’t. All he saw was a boy not yet grown and Bilbo…

Bilbo probably still saw a baby, or a child.

 _No parent should have to bury their child_ , he thought.

“So somber today. It’s not even lunch yet!”

Thorin looked at Bilbo and smiled around the lip of his pipe. “Just thinking.”

“More like brooding,” Bilbo said, sitting beside him with a pipe of his own. “The journey, I take it?”

“Among other things,” Thorin admitted. “How Frodo is too young.”

“I’m quite sure we’ve agreed that he isn’t going to Mordor. I don’t know about you, but if he were to try, it’d be over my dead body.” Bilbo blew a smoke ring and watched it float up into the the sky. “I like your idea of the two of us carrying it. And really, I’m counting on you to keep me sane.”

“Same.”

“Which is why I think you should be the one to throw it in the fire.”

“Thinking rather far ahead, are we?” Thorin asked.

“I don’t think I can do it. Toss it, I mean. It’s…even on the quest, it made me into something…something _quite_ ugly. I’ve only carried it for a few weeks at  that time and already it had weeded its way into my mind, making me…value it above all else. That’s what it does. Sometimes I wonder if I am really suited for this quest. Frodo’s always hated the Ring, even as a child he hated it. At the time, I thought it was some ridiculous notion that he thought I loved it more than him…” He went silent, staring at the floor.

Thorin took his hand. “He doesn’t think that.”

Bilbo scoffed. “Doesn’t he? If I acted like you when you…would I have even noticed?”

Thorin squeezed his hand. “Frodo loves you. How can he not? After all you’ve done…he’s a fine lad, Bilbo. I think the moments you might have acted like me when I was mad were few and far between. He probably didn’t know it was the Ring’s influence till much later.”

Bilbo closed his eyes. “I can’t bear it, Thorin. I can’t…what if I had…”

Thorin wrapped his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and took his pipe out. “I love you. Frodo loves you. And you carried it this long with minimal consequence. You know its effect on you was bad and you separated yourself from it because no matter what anyone else may say, you love Frodo more than you ever loved it.”

He squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder gently. “You aren’t alone in this. Not anymore and I doubt you ever were alone in raising Frodo, even if it felt like you were.”

Bilbo looked at him. “I know why you didn’t come sooner, I don’t hold that against you. You’re people needed you then. I don’t think if you were to have come I would have been ready to listen. I never stopped loving you, even though I really wanted to hate you.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to be able to do this alone.”

“You don’t have to. He’s my son, too, even if I have no legal claim.”

Bilbo scoffed. “You likely have more claim and means than I ever did.”

Thorin shook his head. “What he needed was a nurturing parent. Not one who would be too busy to even tuck him into bed. No, he might have needed us both, but you were the one who would have had the time. Bilbo, he may have some rather unfortunate traits that he certainly got from me. And I’m sure you hoped he’d only have my coloring, but he is more your child than he ever could be mine. Aye, he shares my blood, and yes, that makes him royalty. But he is your son. He was raised by _you_. I can’t be prouder of the Dwobbit he’s going to be one day. I’m already proud of who he is. The only thing I regret is that I wasn’t there by your side to watch him grow up. I feel robbed of that, but after what I did…no, I imagine you wouldn’t have wanted me anywhere near him.”

“Well, that’s true. I didn’t. But it seems someone thought you deserved to be in his life,” Bilbo said. “For what it’s worth, I’d rather you be here now than have him show up at Erebor fully grown. That could have been…well, somehow I think it’d be a bigger mess than it was.”

“I don’t know,” Thorin said. “It was pretty big.” It was good to see Bilbo smile again. It felt like the sun was shining on him after so long of being in the rain. “I knew who you were the moment I met you,” Thorin said. “I knew I was going to fall in love with you, even if I didn’t want to. And I screwed up at every turn, trying to resist it, but in the end, I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”

He swallowed. “Why did you wait? Surely there had to have been others far more suitable and willing to be your husband or wife or significant other…there had to have been people you knew you could trust without fearing for your life.”

And how deep that cut.

“There were, but…they didn’t love Frodo. My people saw him as a bastard—not that many got away with saying that to my face—and any Dwarf that showed interest didn’t know who he was but it would have only been a matter of time before they figured it out and to them my somehow having a child with another Dwarf was both odd and it pushed them away. As if I were untouchable. They must have guessed that I was your One, even if they didn’t know it was you.”

 _Lóf_ , Thorin thought, his gut curling with jealousy.

“It wasn’t much different than before, though. I was alone then, then I was alone again, but to be honest, I’m glad I had Frodo. His presence made my life a little less lonely.” Bilbo stood. “So! Lunch! I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. I’ve no intention of _not_ eating properly while I can. No time for it when we’re on the road, after all…”

Thorin took his hand again and Bilbo silenced, staring at him. “Tell me the truth: do I even have a chance of being yours again? Will you let me be yours? You already have my heart and as damaged as I am, I need you. You’re the only one I can trust wholly without fear that you’ll turn against me like so many before…I don’t want to be alone anymore, Bilbo.”

Bilbo pulled his hand free to touch Thorin’s cheek. “You’re not alone any more than I am. I can’t promise we can court again. Not with the quest we’re about to go on, but yes, I think we have a chance to be together again. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He inhaled and threaded his hand through Thorin’s hair. “I love you. I can’t say there won’t be days I won’t be angry nor can I guarantee that I will feel like I’m making a mistake letting you back into my life, and Frodo’s, but so far I think I can…”

Thorin stood and kissed him, pushing Bilbo against the wall. Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck and returned the kiss. Frenzied, hasty, and sloppy with quite a bit of beard burn. “I’m still going to lunch,” Bilbo said once the kiss ended, foreheads pressed together. “Do you want to join me?”

“Among other things,” Thorin purred.

“Dad! I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes! I better not be walking in on something!”

“Should we?” Thorin asked.

“Plenty of time to traumatize him later,” Bilbo promised. “Like, say, tonight?”

Thorin’s heartbeat spiked. “I’ll get us a room.”

“There is still a lot to discuss, you know.”

“I do.”

Bilbo pecked his cheek and Thorin stepped back just as the door opened. Frodo’s eyes widened. “Um…am I…”

“We’re finished,” Bilbo said, trying to fight down his (quite dopey) grin. “Our table wasn’t taken, was it?”

“Dwalin and Ori arrived. They’re holding it for us. Maybe dial it back? Those smiles are freaking me out.”

Thorin chuckled. “Still want to traumatize him.”

“Will you two stop flirting! You’re so sickeningly sweet, everyone in a three kilometer radius is going to get a toothache.” He paused. “Are you two together _now_? Or are you messing with me again?”

Bilbo’s grin widened and Thorin took his hand. “We’re together.” Then it died. “Are you all right with that, Frodo?”

Frodo blinked, taken aback. He looked at his feet and shrugged. “I suppose. I mean, I could kind of tell it was going to happen eventually and I thought you already were so…yeah.”

“You weren’t expecting to be asked.”

“Didn’t see any reason why I would be. So…you’re courting?”

“Not courting, but together again. With the, uh, quest at hand, we can’t really think about…” Thorin trailed off. It was too high of a possibility.

“But after? If we survive—”

“ _You_ are staying in Rivendell where it’s safe,” Bilbo said, pinching Frodo’s ear. “You are _not_ going off to Mordor.”

“But what if you two fail?”

“Frodo, we don’t even _know_ if it is you that the prophecy speaks of,” Thorin said.

“And it wouldn’t matter if it was,” Bilbo said. “Besides, now that Dwalin’s here, we can have lunch and after that, may Yavanna and Aulë have mercy on you.”

Frodo stuck his tongue out at them and ran back downstairs. Bilbo sighed. “One of these days, I _swear_ …”

“He’s a good kid,” Thorin whispered in his ear. “And had a good father raising him.” He kissed Bilbo’s cheek. Bilbo took his hand.

“They’ll find out sooner or later,” He said. “Might as well get it over with.”

“You say that like announcing that we’re back together is a bad thing.”

“Bad? No. But even _two_ Dwarrow can make quite the scene.”

“Fair point.” Bilbo pulled him down the stairs. “Have I kept you from your food too long?”

“Yes. I’ve a mind to be cross, but my heart’s just not into it right now. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Indeed I will.” Thorin kissed his hand. As for their companions, Dwalin and Ori need only take a look at their clasped hands and the wide smiles to put it together. For some reason, Dwalin was a little put out. 

“I had a plan! It was great!” Ori patted his shoulder and shook his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! Guess what?! I'm published!!  
> http://www.amazon.com/Erlking-Brittany-Keller-ebook/dp/B00YLR3RH6/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1433181653&sr=1-1&keywords=the+erlking


	45. Chapter 45

Bilbo’s fingers dug into Thorin’s skin and he bit Thorin’s lower lip. Thorin rolled his hips at a maddeningly slow pace no matter how much Bilbo begged him to go faster and harder and spewing nonsense about wanting to savor it. He released Thorin’s lip and the mouth to which it belonged latched to Bilbo’s neck to bite another mark onto the skin. He could feel it build again, then die as soon as it’d began.

It was maddening. And, by now, Bilbo was in a state of frustration mingled with desire. He reminded himself that if they were lucky enough to have a moment together on the quest it’d likely be frenzied, hurried, and far from satisfying. This was…

Well, he wasn’t sure if he could—

Bilbo’s back arched as the tip of Thorin’s cock drummed against his prostrate. Thorin’s fingers threaded through his hair, tugging at a handful of threads as he hit that spot, dragging out the pleasure for both of them…

Thorin fell first, releasing inside him, Bilbo’s back arched again as he followed.

He’d not felt so limp since his first. Thorin rolled off him, huffing for breath as Bilbo laid his head on his chest, listening to the fast and steady beat of Thorin’s heart.

“Took your time,” Bilbo mumbled. Thorin chuckled, drawing hand over Bilbo’s back and shoulder. “I love you,” he added, kissing Thorin’s chest.

“Love you, too,” Thorin mumbled, fingers tickling Bilbo’s skin as he stroked his hand down Bilbo’s back. “Love you so much. Kind of scared this is a dream.”

Bilbo blinked at looked at him. “I promise it’s not. I’ll be here when you wake,” he said. “I will be here, Thorin.” Thorin shifted to lie on his side and Bilbo kissed him, threading his fingers through his hair as Thorin buried his nose in Bilbo’s shoulder, arms latched around him.

He wished there was more he could do to assure Thorin that he’d be here. He hated this was all he could do. Even as Thorin drifted to sleep, Bilbo wished there was more he could do.

For now, this would have to do, though it didn’t feel like enough.

#

The rain came down in drops as big as thumbs in the morning and Bilbo woke to the steady pitter-patter of said drops against the roof and window panes. Thorin still slept and Bilbo propped up on his elbow to stare at him, a soft smile on his face.

He hadn’t seen Thorin so peaceful before. During the quest to retake Erebor, he slept so lightly Bilbo feared he was an insomniac. And their night together in Laketown he woke to Thorin already awake and bringing in a steaming breakfast with the widest smile on his face and eyes bright.

To think he’d be nearly killed and his heart broken so horribly seemed unfathomable then. Pregnant even more so…

He kissed Thorin’s forehead and climbed out of bed. Two arms circled around his waist. “Don’t. Not yet,” Thorin pleaded.

“I didn’t realize you were awake,” Bilbo said. “I was going to dress and get some food.”

Thorin pulled him back under the covers. “It can wait,” he said.

“Are you interested in another bout?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be remiss,” he admitted. Bilbo chuckled and took his hand, kissing the knuckles.

“As much as I’d like to indulge you, Thorin, there are certain things that need to be done. Such as make sure our son has had breakfast and isn’t lazing about when he should be with Dwalin.”

“I’m sure Ori and Dwalin can handle Frodo just fine,” Thorin replied, pressing a kiss to Bilbo’s shoulder.

“All right, what about you?”

“Not hungry. Not yet.”

Bilbo hummed and twisted around. “Well, I am. And I’m a mess. I don’t see why we shouldn’t have another round _after_ we’ve eaten. You could join me.”

“I would love to eat you.”

Bilbo hit Thorin with the pillow, drawing his laugh out. Thorin pulled the pillow away and attacked, tickling Bilbo’s ribs. Bilbo shrieked and flailed, slapping Thorin’s hands away.

“You son of an orc! Get off! Off!” Bilbo kicked Thorin’s thigh, freeing himself. “Now I’m going to take a bath and get us some breakfast. I suggest you do the same.”

“Might I join you?”

“We’d never get clean if you did, so no.”

“Pity,” Thorin sighed, grinning. “I was hoping to keep you in bed all day.”

“All day?! Maybe if we had the time and means. Which, by the way, we don’t,” Bilbo said gathering his clothes and heading to the wash room. “Someday I might like to indulge in something of that tune.” _After the quest, if we live, if we make it back to the Shire…_

Thorin was still staring at him, desire and longing evident in his gaze. “Perhaps we should make the time,” he suggested. “Who knows when we’ll be able to relax next?”

Bilbo agreed. “I’ll be done in a few,” he said, entering the bathroom and leaning against the wall. _What happens now?_

#

Frodo couldn’t move.

He literally couldn’t move.

His muscles were like weights holding him down to the ground and they shook if he dared put them through something as simple as _one more fucking push up._

Now, there were things Frodo regretted doing in life.

Sneaking extra helpings.

Bringing spiders into the house.

Dry wine.

He didn’t think running away from home in hopes of stopping his parents from going to Mordor would be one of them. But here he was, still unsure how he was supposed to move and still at Dwalin’s mercy. Ori had been no help. He hadn’t even asked Dwalin to go easy. Nope. He hadn’t said anything.

When his parents deemed to show up, Frodo reached out for them, begging for mercy and help.

“Feeling sore?” Thorin asked.

“Very.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Walking a bit stiffly, yourself, aren’t you?” Dwalin asked, smirking. Frodo groaned. He didn’t need to hear this! Nor did he think he was supposed to see Bilbo send Dwalin rude gestures, so he spared his father the embarrassment and kept his mouth shut.

“Frodo, get off the ground. Time to eat,” Bilbo said.

“I can’t,” he said. “Too sore.”

“Dwalin, a little help.”

“Right,” Dwalin said, hands hooking under Frodo’s armpits. “Up you get.” He lifted Frodo and set him on a chair at the table. Frodo set his forehead on the table. “Drink some water and eat some food. You’ll live, you spoiled brat.”

“Says you, you bastard.”

Dwalin snorted and patted his shoulder. Frodo whimpered and glared at him. “Give it a couple days. You’ll be fine.”

“Whinier than my nephews?”

“Actually, no,” Dwalin said, impressed. “Kid took it in stride, even tried to take me down at one point. Bit my good ear and everything.”

“It tasted like crap.”

“How would you know?” Bilbo asked. “Unless someone failed to tell me, I’m quite sure you never ate crap.”

“I don’t know. The soup at Mithlond was pretty bad.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Thorin said. “Bit salty.”

“Hobbits,” Dwalin said. “Very particular about their food.”

“Oi!” Bilbo snapped, “that doesn’t make us—Lobelia.” Frodo turned his head to see Lobelia and Otho striding over to them. “I didn’t expect you for another day or two.”

She scoffed. “As if. And _you_ ,” she twisted Frodo’s ear. “I’ve a mind to whack your bum with my umbrella, Frodo Baggins.”

“I don’t think you’ll need to,” he mumbled, rubbing his abused ear.

“Dwalin handled it just fine,” Bilbo said. “Though a couple whacks won’t be remiss, I think. So long as you lend it to me.”

“Dad!”

“I might be all right with Dwalin handling your punishment, but only because I know you’re way past spanking age. Though sometimes I do wonder.”

“How many are we waiting on still?” Otho asked.

“Lóf and Míl are still on their way, but they’ve a farther road to travel,” Bilbo said. Frodo pushed himself up, arms shaking. He looked around.

“What happens when everyone gets here? Rivendell?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t go?”

Bilbo glared at him. “Frodo, you are _not_ going to Mordor.”

“I could do it.”

“Absolutely not,” Bilbo said, smacking his hand against the table. “You’re twenty-five years old, Frodo Baggins! You should be worried about your apprenticeship and your relationship with Mac. Not about the fate of the blasted world!”

“You’ll have your quest,” Thorin said. “When you’re and adult.”

“And if you fail—”

“Frodo that is enough!” Bilbo snapped. “You’re not coming with us! Am I clear?”

“Chrystal,” Frodo muttered before excusing himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh this chapter was hard to write...


	46. Chapter 46

There was a thump outside the door, waking Thorin. He opened his eyes and blinked as they adjusted to the dark. He made out Frodo’s shape on the other bed. Bilbo slept beside Thorin. He slid out of bed and grabbed Orcrist as a Man—three Men robed in black and bearing swords entered and circled around Frodo. Thorin bellowed and stabbed one in the back. It shrieked, waking Bilbo and Frodo.

Bilbo jumped out first, seizing Sting, while Frodo tried to sneak by the third. The one Thorin stabbed still stood, pushing Thorin into a corner while the second tried to stab Bilbo though he parried it’s blows and dodged around it.

“Frodo, run!” Bilbo ordered.

Frodo dove for the window and pushed it open before climbing out into the street. Somehow, Thorin doubted that was what Bilbo meant, but it would do. The Men shrieked, unearthly and cruel, forcing Thorin and Bilbo to cover their ears. As they fled the room.

Lobelia and Otho ran into the room.

“What were those?” Lobelia demanded.

“Never mind that!” Bilbo said. “They’re after Frodo.”

“And where is he?” Otho asked.

“Outside,” Thorin said, climbing out the window and thanking Mahal they were on the first floor. “Frodo?!” he shouted. There was no answer. “Frodo!” Still nothing. The night was like a blanket around them. There was a shrill whistle. The baying of horses, and the moon’s pale light slipped through the thinner clouds above.

“Where’s Frodo?” Bilbo asked. “Where’s my son?”

Thorin approached him. “We’ll find him. He can’t have left Bree.”

“What were those things?”

“The Ring…we need to make sure it’s still here,” Bilbo said, returning to the room. Otho had started a fire and now Bilbo tore through their belongings. He turned to Thorin, frantic. “Frodo still has it? Do you think?”

“I hope,” Thorin said. “But I’m afraid of what that means for him with those Men about.”

“Thorin, I don’t think those were Men. You stabbed one. And it still stood. It didn’t die.”

#

Frodo entered a forge and lit the hearth as best he could in the dark. His hands shook and the Ring whispered around his neck. It felt like it was laughing at him. And those creatures…

He didn’t want to think about it.

The fire sprung to life and he sighed, looking around. There had to be a weapon here suited for someone of his size. The sword he had laid forgotten at the Inn. Frodo found an unfinished dagger, rough and unpolished. It would have to do.

The door creaked open and he spun around, brandishing the blade.

“Easy lad,” Dwalin said, holding his hands up. “You all right?”

Frodo nodded.

“Do you have the Ring?”

He nodded again. _He wants it for himself._ _NO HE DOESN’T!!!_

“Good,” Dwalin sighed. “That’s good.” In the distance, a shriek pierced the silence, sending the hairs on the back of Frodo’s neck to rise. “We best get you back to your parents, lad.”

“Couldn’t we just get to Rivendell? Now?”

“Can’t go wandering off at night,” Dwalin said. He extended his hand, but Frodo didn’t move. He couldn’t move and he wondered if there was anyone he could trust— “Frodo, we don’t have time for doubt! You can trust me or not, but I am on your side!” The door creaked open and the robed creatures slid inside.

“Dwalin look out!”

Dwalin spun around and swung his axe, growling as the creature drew closer, sword pointed at them. Frodo felt cornered, trapped between a furnace and this creature which can’t—furnace. Fire.

He hadn’t a clue it’d work, but most things hated fire anyway, right? Maybe the same could be said with such a creature. He seized a torch and stuck it in the fire, lighting it and jabbed it at the creature. It shrieked and backed away.

Dwalin grabbed one of his own and swung it as he would a sword. “Come on!” he shouted, “get back to the inn!”

Frodo glanced behind him, worried about being snuck up on from behind as he and Dwalin returned to the inn.

“What were those things?” he asked.

Dwalin looked at him, the torch made shadows dance on his face and making him appear more sinister than he is. “We don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know about the others, but I’ve _never_ come across a creature like that before.”

“I think they wanted me. Me and the Ring.”

“Maybe. Why do you have it still? Weren’t you supposed to give it to your parents?”

“I did. I put it on when Dad was having supper and Thorin was in the shower. Thorin’s supposed to have it right now, but I forgot to give it back…”

Dwalin hummed, fixing Frodo with a hard stare as if gaging whether or not Frodo was telling the truth or not. Frodo was, it had been an accident. He didn’t want to get in trouble with Bilbo again. “All right,” Dwalin said. “Just try not to forget again.” Frodo nodded and looked over his shoulder again. “You all right, lad?”

“Um…yeah, a little shaken.”

Dwalin scoffed. “More than a little,” he said. “You’re doing fine, though and your fear’s normal enough. Don’t neglect your fear, lad. No good comes from downplaying or denying it.”

“But you’re a warrior.”

“Doesn’t make me immortal. Everyone’s afraid of something. What matters is what you do with it.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to go home? Or do you think you can make this journey?”

“I didn’t realize I had a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Dwalin said. They could see the inn’s sign now. “The question is, what choice do you make. You made the choice to run away, though you knew it was a bad idea. You wanted to save your parents, or you wanted to keep them from stealing your glory.”

“It’s not about glory! It’s about doing the right thing.”

Dwalin arched a brow. “Not even a little bit?”

“Well…maybe a little,” Frodo admitted. “I feel like I should see it through to the end. I know I won’t be allowed to, but…”

“I know you hate being told this, lad, but you’re more like Thorin than you think,” Dwalin said. “Strong sense of obligation, haughty, temperamental. Aye. You’re a mini, curly haired, beardless Thorin.” Frodo glared at him, but Dwalin laughed. “You even got the glare down.”

“Are you sure I’m like Thorin? Aren’t I more like my Dad?”

“You’re a decent mix of both of them,” Dwalin said. There’s no shame in that, lad. Oi! Lad’s fine!”

“Must you shout? Those things could still be around.”

“Very likely.”

“Then why…”

“What would be the point?” Dwalin asked. “They found you twice. Not sure how, but sooner we leave Bree, the better. If we’re lucky we may be able to stop by the trolls.”

“Trolls? Those trolls? The stone trolls? Isn’t that just a myth my dad came up with?”

Dwalin glared at him. “I was nearly roasted like a pig and you go on saying it’s _not true_? Bilbo! You’re brat’s a snarky bastard.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Bilbo sighed. “You mentioned the trolls?”

“Oh come on!” Frodo snapped. “There’s no way you could have gone up against three trolls and lived!”

“I guess we’ll be living through the traumatic moment where you suggested that they’d skin us first,” Thorin muttered.

“Never got back at you for that,” Ori added.

“Still need to.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes and took the torch from Frodo. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he said. “I think so. Oh.” He took the necklace off. “You want it or should I give it to Thorin?”

Bilbo stared at it and swallowed. “Thorin,” he said. “Give it to Thorin. Then go pack your things. We are leaving Bree tonight.”

Frodo nodded and handed the necklace to Thorin, who put it on and tucked it under his tunic. He entered the room and packed his things. He looked out the window. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“What about Lóf and Míl?” Bilbo swore and climbed in, writing a hasty note to them and another for the innkeeper. He muttered under his breath about also needing to leave payment. Frodo swung his pack over his shoulder and climbed back out into the street.

“I think it’d be best to avoid roads,” Bilbo said. “Those things might be using them.”

“Fine by me,” Dwalin said. “Easier to hide that way.”

Bilbo climbed back out and straightened his coat. “Last chance to back out,” he said to Lobelia and Otho. Lobelia harrumphed.

“Not a chance.” Otho sighed, mumbling about lack of sleep and the madness bound to happen now.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Bilbo asked. “Let’s get out of here before those things come back.” Once they left Bree, Frodo looked back. Should he go home? Or should he go to Rivendell? Would it matter either way? Another shriek echoed and a hand pressed to his shoulder. Frodo gasped and looked around at Bilbo. “It’ll be all right,” he said. “I’m here, Frodo-lad.” He wrapped his arm around Frodo’s shoulders and into the dark they went.


	47. Chapter 47

Frodo gaped at the stone trolls in front of him. He had been _sure_ it was all just a ploy to liven the stories, but this…this couldn’t be faked. “Told you it was true,” Bilbo said, ruffling his hair and grinning ear to ear.

“Fine, so it happened,” Frodo huffed, crossing his arms.

“Ah-ha! Finally!”

“You’re just happy because you proved me wrong.”

“Lad, I lived through these three. The least you can let me do is gloat.”

“Gloat? You almost got us all killed! You, Fili, and Kili!” Dwalin snapped. Bilbo shrugged.

“We clearly lived, so I don’t see why you’re still grouchy about the skinning thing,” Bilbo said. The Dwarves glared at him, but he just leaned agaist one of the trolls and wrinkled his nose. “I still smell them. It’s been over twenty-five years. How can I still smell them?”

“Sense-memory?” Frodo suggested.

“I’m not so sure. Recall my chest back home? It still smells of troll.”

“The one that smells like rotten piss and shit?” Frodo asked.

“That’s the one.”

“I wondered why it…”

“I told you many times! You just didn’t want to believe me.”

Frodo shrugged. “But you embellished it, right? You didn’t distract them?”

Bilbo and the Dwarves exchanged looks. “Yes, I embellished that,” Bilbo said.

“It was Gandalf,” Ori said.

“Aye, Gandalf,” Thorin said.

“Changed his voice to sound like them,” Dwalin added. “Some sort of magician’s trick. Good enough to fool them long enough to turn them to stone.”

“It was definitely not me who distracted them,” Bilbo said.

“By telling them the best way to cook a Dwarf was to skin him,” Dwalin added, glaring at him.

“And we certainly weren’t stuffed in bags or tied to a pit,” Ori said. Dwalin smirked at him and Ori slapped his shoulder. “Not the time, you idiot.”

“Yes, dear.”

“There is a child present.”

“I’m twenty-five, Dad.”

“I know, let me keep the illusion that you’re innocent.”

“So long as I can keep thinking you’re celibate,” Frodo snapped back. Thorin and Bilbo exchanged looks and snorted. “Come on!” Frodo shouted. “You can’t even give me the same decency I gave you with Mac?!”

“What decency? Sure you weren’t grinding in the hallway, but he did have a tendency to looking at you a little more lewdly than I needed to see.” Frodo’s face went bright red. “Not to mention the looks you sent _his_ way, so really, lad I’m not a fool. I’ve two working eyes and a brain in this head. I may be old but I’m sharper than you think.”

Frodo dived behind a troll, vowing never to come out for the rest of eternity. The Dwarves bellowed loud laughter and Bilbo shook his head, a large grin on his face.

“Tweens are so easy to tease,” he said.

“That is until they start teasing back, then it’s just one big battle of who you can embarrass more,” Thorin said.

“I take it you speak from experience?”

Thorin grinned. “Indeed,” he said. “Fili, especially, learned how to be a sarcastic little shit by the time he was sixty.”

“I can see that. Can I guess rightly that Kili followed right behind?”

Thorin sighed and nodded.

“Well,” Lobelia said, having listened to the conversation with confused yet rapt attention. “Frodo, how about you stop sulking and help make dinner.”

“I’m not coming out of here!”

“You’re not _in_ anything,” Bilbo snapped.

Lobelia shook her head. “Let him sulk. So long as he doesn’t wander off, it should be fine.” Otho finished lighting the fire and mumbled about his knees as she put a skillet on top of it before gathering some salted beef and bacon. A distant shriek cut through the mirth and they stared in the direction from which it came. Frodo came back around and Bilbo hugged him.

“Bilbo, the Ring,” Thorin said, hand outstretched. Bilbo hesitated, hand clamped over the ring where it rested against his chest. “ _Bilbo_.” He pulled it out and handed it to Thorin, who looped the chain around his neck and stuffed it under his shirt.

“What do we do?” Otho asked.

“We take shifts,” Thorin said, “Ori, take first shift. Dwalin you’ll take the second, I’ll take the last shift. Let the Hobbits sleep.”

“If you have a weapon, keep it close,” Bilbo added. He squeezed Frodo’s shoulder and they sat around the fire as Lobelia cooked. Bilbo nudged Thorin. “We’re close enough to Rivendell. We can get there tomorrow.”

“If we last the night.”

“They’re still far, if it’s the robed knights,” he said.

“No, those were orcs.”

“Still,” Bilbo said. “They’re far enough away. There’s no need to worry. Is there?”

“So I hope,” Thorin said.

Bilbo sighed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Ori and Dwalin are going to be tired. I’ll take Ori’s shift instead.”

“If you wish,” Thorin said. “Bring it up with him, then.”

“I will.”

#

Morning came early for them, long before the dark fled from the light of dawn. They had a quick breakfast of berries and bread before packing up and heading to Rivendell, not arriving till mid-morning. Unlike the last time Thorin had visited, he acted as polite as possible. True, he may have come off a bit cool, but at least he wasn’t adding snide insults. He wasn’t a fool.

Well, he wasn’t a _big_ fool.

They were given rooms to use at their own disposal along with a not so subtle request _not_ to use the fountain as a public bath again, and warned that lunch would be served in a couple hours. Frodo had gotten a room to himself down the hall, vowing that, really, what could happen in Rivendell? Before a number of protests could escape his and Bilbo’s mouths, Frodo had closed the door to his room and they went to theirs.

“It may be for the best,” Bilbo said. “He’ll be staying here a while yet.”

“Are you certain it’s wise?”

“I don’t know about wise, but logical, yes.” He sat on the bed and massaged his forehead. Thorin sat beside him. “I’m frightened, Thorin,” he said. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“What? Walk into Mordor?”

“Yes. The Ring, it…it’s getting harder to let it go.”

“I will carry it when we get to Mordor,” Thorin promised. “If you think it’s too great a risk for you to have it when we get there.”

“I think it will twist me around. It already did! It _does_. And not once had I noticed it…”

“Look at me,” Thorin said, kneeling at Bilbo’s feet and taking his hands in his. “You’re not alone in this. I will be there every step of the way, _Ghivashel_. I promise on my life we will destroy it. And we will return to our child.” He kissed Bilbo’s hands.

“You don’t know that.”

“No, but we did fight a dragon and live to tell that tale. We also survived a battle with thousands of orcs who were decimated. Barely lived through that, but lived through it. With that kind of track record, I’m quite certain we can survive Mordor. And when we return, we’ll court.”

“We don’t even know if we have the time to court! The more I think about it, the more I just…I don’t see us coming back, I hate to say it, and I certainly don’t want Frodo to think it…”

Thorin sighed. “Then what do you want? If you’re so certain we won’t return, what would you want from me now?”

“I don’t know,” Bilbo admitted. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

Thorin nodded and kissed his hands again. “You want the first bath?”

“No, go ahead. You smell worse than I do,” Bilbo said, the corner of his lips quirking upward.

Thorin rolled his eyes and kissed his forehead. “No worse than you.”

Bilbo smacked his arm, laughing.


	48. Chapter 48

Bilbo woke to kisses being pressed to his shoulder and an arm wrapped around his waist. He relaxed and mumbled a good morning.

Thorin kissed his cheek and repeated the greeting. Bilbo turned over to the other side and pressed a kiss of his own to Thorin’s mouth, raking his hands through Thorin’s hair. Thorin rolled on top of him hands pressed to the mattress as they kissed.

Bilbo bit his lip gently. Thorin bucked, brushing their groins together. They groaned and Bilbo pulled a Thorin’s hair.

“I think I figured it out.”

“What?”

“What we’re going to do about a courtship and all.”

Thorin hummed and rolled off. The gaze he gave Bilbo was hard as stone, as though preparing for the worst news imaginable.

Not that Bilbo would know what that is. He turned on his own side and bit his lip, thinking how he was going to explain this.

“I think we should get married. Not that I would _usually_ approve of such haste,” he said quickly. “But it seems to me that we can go to Mordor and never know if we ever could have been something more than what we are now or we can forgo the courtship and wed before we go anywhere.”

Thorin seized Bilbo’s face and kissed him, mumbling _yes_ against his lips, his forehead, his cheeks…

Bilbo cleared his throat and kissed Thorin soundly on the lips.

“And how, exactly, are we to go around telling the others of this decision? We haven’t any rings.”

“Nor beads, but both are easily rectified,” Thorin said, beaming. “Here, there is perhaps silver. It will have to do for both. Were it in my power right now I would give you emeralds and sapphires.”

“Silver is fine, thank you,” Bilbo said. “And as for gems and jewels, would you be adverse to flowers instead. I would love weaving you a crown of lilacs and daisies in your hair. Well, the daisies would look better in your beard.”

Thorin barked a laugh. “Flowers die, Bilbo.”

“And given time stone grinds to sand. A new beginning. Flowers never really die, Thorin. They return every spring anew. And I love you, Thorin, even when I was so angry I couldn’t even bear the thought of you. So think of it that way, I suppose: a new spring.”

Thorin hummed. “A new spring, a new beginning.”

“Exactly,” Bilbo said. Thorin took his hand in his and kissed his knuckles. “So we are agreed?”

“We are.”

“Who do we tell next?” Bilbo asked. “I think we should talk to Frodo, but I don’t know what he will think. A part of me fears he will be against it.”

“Likely he would, but he won’t deny you your happiness, _Ghivashel_. He will understand why we decided to wed now.” He silenced and Bilbo arched a brow at him.

“What is it?”

“He is still wary of me,” Thorin said. “I understand, but I can’t say it doesn’t fill me with confidence.” Bilbo sighed.

“He knows you love him. And deep down, whether he wants to admit it or not, he loves you too. He knows he can go to you when he can’t come to me. True, he may _prefer_ me, but that is more because I’m the one who was there for him when he was little. That’s all, Thorin, and you’re here now.”

“I still should have come back sooner.”

“I don’t think I would have been ready. I was furious and heartbroken for so long, Thorin, and there is still so much we need to get through, but I think we’ve taken care of the crux of the problems, hm? At least I think so. I _hope_ so.”

“Same,” he said. “I love you and I want to call you husband if you allow.”

Bilbo nodded, smiling. “I allow,” he said. “I think we should tell him together. And if not, I’ll handle it.”

Thorin shook his head. “Together,” he said. “Hilarious as it was that he thought we’d been courting since you came to Mithlond to fetch him, I’d rather avoid more confusion.”

“Fair enough,” Bilbo said, sitting up. Thorin seized him around the waist and pulled him back down. “What are you doing?”

“I’d like to make love to my betrothed if I may.”

“We’ll be married in a few days. Can’t you wait?”

“I can, but I’d rather not,” Thorin said. “I love you so much.”

Bilbo kissed him and slipped out his arms.

“Tonight then,” he said. “Tonight we’ll meet here. But right now, I think it’s best we get everything set up, tell who is here and get those rings and beads made. And if we’re lucky, Lobelia won’t try to control the whole damn thing. It’s not like we have the time for something fanciful anyway and her sense of style is, uh, _horrifically flamboyant_. I’m grateful for the help she gave me over the years, but we’ll settle for something simple.”

Thorin hummed. “Very well. It’s already going to be a strange wedding.”

“How so?”

“I’m a former Dwarf King marrying a Hobbit in a city of Elves. That may seem fanciful to you and yours, but it’ll be very odd to my people. Dis will be furious, but with time against us, she’ll just have to suck it up,” he said.

Bilbo snorted. “All right, I see your point, but otherwise you’ve no complaints?”

“None.”

“Then I am going to bathe and then _you_ are going to bathe and _we_ will go talk to our child. And it’d be best to bring food to placate him. I cannot guarantee he will be cordial or polite before breakfast.”

With that, Bilbo went to the wash room and while he bathed and dressed, thought about what he’d make for breakfast. Eggs and bacon, of course. Perhaps some sausages…and toast with roasted tomatoes with a cup of tea and some milk. That sounded quite placating.

So after another half an hour waiting for Thorin to finish braiding his hair, breakfast was ready and they approached Frodo’s door, knocking. Within, Frodo groaned and they glanced at each other. Aulë and Yavanna willing, he would be in a good mood, Bilbo hoped. The door opened and Frodo stared at them, blurry eyed and hair tussled.

“Dad? Thorin?”

“Might we come in, lad?” Bilbo asked. “We’ve breakfast and something to discuss.”

“Now?”

“Aye, now.”

Frodo let them in and the plates were set on a small round table. Frodo pulled a third chair from a desk and sat on it between Bilbo and Thorin, slowly waking up as he ate and listened to Bilbo and Thorin explain their decision. For a long time after, Frodo remained silent, legs crossed and playing with the hem of his pajama trousers. Bilbo patted his shoulder.

“You are okay with this, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Does it matter if you leave married or not? You’re going to Mordor. Not exactly a good honeymoon destination.”

 _Well, he’s not wrong_.

Frodo hummed. “I sort of expected this sooner or later,” he said. He looked at Thorin. “I wish I could say I trust you. And I kind of do, but at the same time, I don’t. Dad’s already been in the Ring’s grasp and you went Gold Mad once already. So honestly, if you think getting married would help that, then fine, but I really doubt it will do much of anything. Honestly, though, I don’t really care.”

“Oh, you care,” Bilbo said. “You’re just trying to be polite. I appreciate that, lad, I do, but it’s okay to tell us what you really think.”

“Not really,” he said. “It wouldn’t really matter what I say anyway. You’re both just asking out of courtesy, so…” he shrugged.

“No, Frodo,” Bilbo said. “I’m not asking you out of courtesy. I’m asking because this affects you just as much as us.” He took his hands in his own. “Frodo-lad, there was a time you wanted us all to be a family and somehow, as time went on, you gave up hoping that you could have both Thorin and me in your life. It was _never_ my intention to poison Thorin’s image for you. I never wanted you to be angry or hate him. I love him, Frodo. And we love you. How can we not? You’ve grown up to be a such a strong young Hobbit and I couldn’t be prouder.”

“You’re both going to Mordor. You both could die. And if I’m—”

“It’s a big if and by my life, I will _never_ let it become a reality of our lives, Frodo. I will _never_ let you go to Mordor if I can help it.”

Frodo nodded.

“It still doesn’t matter to me any,” he said. “Whether your marry or not, You’re already together again. But I can’t say I’m not scared of what it would mean. It might…I don’t know, try to turn you against each other.”

“It is not something you need worry about,” Thorin said. “If it happens, we’ll face it. Fair enough?”

He nodded. “Fine,” he said. “Marry if you wish,” he said. Frodo stood. “Can I bathe now?”

Bilbo nodded and he fled the room. “Well I expected a lot more shouting,” he said.

Thorin nodded.

“I suppose that’s the best we can hope for.”

“You want to tell your relatives while I talk to mine?”

“I don’t see why not. Though if you hear screaming, stay far away. It might be Lobelia.”

Thorin snorted. “You wish.”


	49. Chapter 49

They explained to the group together. Dwalin laughed loudly and embraced Thorin in a bear hug. Ori’s hug was less back cracking, if Bilbo said so himself, given he received the same hug later. Dwalin might as well as squeezed the breath out of him. At least his back felt better than when he woke up. Lobelia also gave him a hug while Otho gave a more reserved congratulation.

“But you’ve no rings!” she cried, scandalized.

“It’s not a problem,” Thorin said. “I’ll be making them later today if the Elves are willing to let a Dwarf work in their forge. If they _have_ a forge.”

“They have their own weapons,” Bilbo reminded him, arching a brow. “I’m sure they have a forge.”

“And does Frodo know?” Otho asked.

The group stared at them and Bilbo nodded. “He knows,” Bilbo said. “I can’t gauge whether or not he’s pleased with this turn of events, but he knows. He gave as much of a blessing as I had expected.”

Lobelia hummed. “He’s a smart lad,” she said. “And compassionate when it suits him. He’ll come around eventually.” She turned to Thorin. “How long will it take for the rings to be made?”

“It depends,” he said. “I would say at least one or two days depending on the metals available here. And that’s just for the rings.”

“Just?”

“We decided to have beads too,” Bilbo explained. “Dwarfen tradition, marriage beads.”

Lobelia hummed, crossing her arms and smirking. Bilbo narrowed his eyes.

“No. Absolutely not. I am _not_ letting you take over.”

Lobelia blinked and her smirk shifted to a grin.

“Whatever do you mean, dearest cousin?”

“You know _perfectly well_ what I mean! It was all good and well at _your_ wedding to have it be as gaudy as possible, but _not mine_. No. Absolutely not. You’re not touching _one thing_. Except the food. You can do the cooking.”

“Not the Elves?”

“I don’t think they’d know how to make a proper Hobbit feast if they tried.” Lobelia nodded.

“Too bad Bombur isn’t here. He could have made the cake,” Ori said.

“And likely eat it too,” Dwalin added.

Ori smacked his arm. “Be nice.”

“He’s not even here!”

Bilbo took a breath and sat down. Thorin sat beside him. “I love you,” he whispered in Bilbo’s ear, taking his hand in his and kissed it.

“I love you too,” he replied, smiling.

“Oi!” Dwalin shouted. “Save it for the honeymoon.” They sent him a rude gesture and Dwalin laughed. He clapped Thorin’s shoulder. “Come on, lad. I’ll help make those trinkets.” Thorin kissed Bilbo’s cheek and left with Dwalin. He released the breath he had not realized he was holding, feeling the stress leave. Lobelia took the seat previously occupied by Thorin.

“What do you say to chocolate cake with vanilla frosting and strawberries?”

“If you can find strawberries, then sure, but whatever berry is in season will do just fine. So long as it’s not poisonous.”

Lobelia smacked his arm. “I would never! But I can do that.” She winked and stood. “If you need me, I will be in the kitchen.”

“Do you even know where the kitchen is?” Otho asked. Lobelia kissed her husband’s cheek and he shook his head as she walked off. “Blasted woman does whatever she wants.”

“You didn’t have to marry her,” Bilbo said.

“I know,” Otho said, grinning. Bilbo didn’t think he’d ever understand their relationship. He stood and stretched.

“I am going to find Lord Elrond and find out if there’s a place best suited for an impromptu wedding.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ori offered.

“I’ll just finish my tea and go find my wife before she terrorizes any Elves,” Otho said.

#

Frodo laid on his bed, an arm under his head and the other on his stomach, staring at the ceiling. He sighed and sat up, deciding to write a letter to Mac.

He at least should know they made it to Rivendell safely and that he was all right.

They would likely want to know about his father’s sudden decision to marry his sire. Frodo didn’t see much reason behind it, but it was their decision and he’d have however long it took them to get to Mordor and back to get used to the idea of having both his parents available.

The idea was wonderful, but in reality? He wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know what would happen if they wed before going on this quest. Somehow, he just… He had a bad feeling and he couldn’t understand it. He just felt it would fail. Frodo finished the letter and set the quill down. He stood and poked his head out of the room. Lord Elrond and Lindir were passing by and he cleared his throat.

“Sorry, my lord,” he said, “but have you seen my dad?”

“I have not,” Elrond said, glancing at Lindir, who shook his head.

“He might be with your companions in the garden,” Lindir said. “Or the kitchen. I know one of the Hobbits who came with you had taken over it.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Wait a moment, Young Master Baggins,” Elrond said. “You seem troubled.” Frodo bit his lip, wondering whether to confide in him or not…

“My parents intend to go to Mordor so that I don’t have to,” he said. “Except, I don’t think they should. I don’t think they can do this. Thorin was gold mad before and my dad has carried the ring for so long now that I don’t know if he has the strength to do this job.”

Elrond hummed. He turned to Lindir and gave him a set of instructions in Sindarin. Lindir bowed and went on ahead. Elrond held his hand out. “Walk with me, Frodo. And I’ll tell you what I think and what I have seen.” Frodo bit his lip in thought, then nodded. “Since the Ring was rediscovered,” Elrond began, “Your father had told me he would take it if it meant keeping you from going yourself. This is a natural reaction. If I could spare my children pain, I would. So your father’s reaction and decision is understandable. But I have looked into the future and I have seen several different possibilities.

“The first I saw is your parents’ success. Bilbo and Thorin will succeed, but it would cost them their lives. Or it might not, they return and you have both of your parents. They will be worse off, but they will be alive. If they fail, they _will_ die. And all of Middle Earth will suffer for it. They do not care for the state of the world. They care for what happens to you. It is no different if you were to carry it. The same possibilities are there. You go, you die or you live but you are not the same as before. Thorin already has lived through horrors and he would do it again, Warrior’s Sickness or not. Those are fates I see.”

“What if I were to go? What if I did take it to Mordor? Say…tomorrow or next week?”

Elrond shook his head. “You will not be prepared, Frodo. If you were to carry the Ring and have even a small chance at success…well, I don’t see how you’ll be ready until you’re of age.” Frodo frowned and stared at the floor.  _So I wouldn’t be able to do this till at least a decade or so from now._ “Understand this, Frodo,” Elrond said. “You’re still very much a child, no matter how mature you feel. Your parents are doing what they think is best.”

“But my dad—”

“He managed this long and he is doing this for you. Both of them are. I pray that is incentive enough to ensure their success.” He stopped and faced Frodo, smiling. “You have a strong spirit, Frodo Baggins. And even if this is not your road, you are the son of two great warriors. Your name will be known.” He clapped his shoulder. “Yes. That much, I am certain of and someday, you will claim your heritage with pride.”

Frodo blinked, wondering how on earth that made any sense.


	50. Chapter 50

His hands shook as he fixed his coat over his cleanest shirt tucked into his nicest pair of trousers. He glanced in the mirror and combed a hand through his hair with a shaky breath. He could barely see the outline of the Mithril shirt beneath his attire.

_After so long, can I really do this?_

Bilbo shook his head. He was the one who _asked_. Was he not? He chalked the feelings to nerves and squared his shoulders before leaving the room, almost knocking into Frodo. Frodo bit his lip.

“Do I look okay?” he asked, holding his hands out. Bilbo smiled.

“You look better than okay,” he said, embracing Frodo and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “How about myself?”

“You look fine, Dad.”

“Just fine?!”

“If you want me to fuel your ego, you’re in sorry luck,” Frodo said, smirking. Bilbo scoffed and closed the door behind him.

“Scamp.”

“Old codger.”

“Now is that any way to treat your dad on his wedding day?”

Frodo shrugged and ran off toward the cave where Elrond had discovered the Moon Runes all those years ago. It was a fair place with the waterfall and it was under stone, which catered to the Dwarves while still open for the Hobbits.

Bilbo stepped into the cave and spied Thorin and Dwalin conversing with their backs to the entrance. Ori grinned at him and Lobelia winked.

Frodo went to sit by her and Otho, wishing Bilbo luck. Elrond motioned for Thorin and Bilbo to take their places, hands clasped and tied with a silken rope.

“Blessings on all who stand witness,” he began, “here today as Bilbo son of Bungo and Thorin son of Thrain profess their love and desire to express it through matrimony. Here this day before the Valar, we honor them.”

Elrond handed Bilbo a silver goblet filled with red wine. He lifted it to Thorin’s lips and let him drink from it before Thorin took the cup from his hand and repeated the ritual. The wine was sweet and tart in his mouth and he licked his lips unconsciously when he finished drinking.

Elrond took the cup and removed the rope. He held up the beads and blessed them before handing them to Bilbo and Thorin. Thorin recited Khuzdul and while not everyone understood, the soft timber of his voice echoed the meaning behind his words. He continued to speak even as Bilbo braided his hair. Once the braids were done, Thorin pressed his forehead to Bilbo’s for a brief moment. Elrond then presented and blessed the rings. He handed them to Bilbo and Thorin.

Bilbo took a breath and met Thorin’s gaze. “I followed you through danger and peril once before and would do so again in a heartbeat. I have loved you with all that I am and all that I am and have is yours to share. I still love you with my very being. Many times I have wondered why, but all I know is that I don’t want to continue on without you as I had been. I don’t want to lose you again. So if you would have me again, I would like to call you my husband, to love and cherish till my dying day.”

He slipped the ring on Thorin’s finger and waited, watching Thorin. Thorin swallowed and squeezed Bilbo’s hand. “When we met, I had been a fool for many a day before I realized I could not fight what I felt for you. I loved you as soon as I met you. I knew who you were to me and like a fool I pushed you away out of arrogance and out of concern. I know better now that I will never ever truly be able to comprehend how you could love me after everything I have done. Bilbo, you have given me so much and the greatest gift I could have asked for.” He turned to look at Frodo, who averted his gaze, blushing. “I do not blame you for withholding all that you did from me. I know why: you only wished to protect your family and that you ever felt threatened by me is my doing. I cannot express how dear this second chance is to me. It is not you who should ask if I would have you, but I who should ask if you would have me. I hurt you and by hurting you I had nearly destroyed everything we had. It cost me the time I should have spent showing you how much I adore you rather than pining for you and not knowing if you could forgive me. That we stand here today is a miracle to me. I love you, Bilbo. I wish to name you my husband and bear the same honor to be bestowed by you to me, if you’ll still have me.”

Bilbo nodded, grinning and blinking back tears as Thorin slid the ring on his finger and kissed him. The small group cheered, and Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck, standing on his toes as Thorin bent down, hands on Bilbo’s hips.

#

Míl and Lóf arrived during the dinner party. First confused and then joyful at the announcement. Well, joyful of Bilbo but no less suspicious of Thorin.

“I assure you, it is completely my idea,” Bilbo promised. “I forgive him. True, it doesn’t mean there won’t be a day or two where I want to strangle him, but I’m still rather fond of him, if nothing else.”

“Just fond?” Thorin asked teasingly. Bilbo nudged him with his elbow.

“You know I am,” he replied, grinning.

“Well, I had hoped you were more than fond of me. As I am quite sure that fond doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about you.”

Bilbo laughed and kissed him. “Dance with me,” he said, pulling Thorin away from the food. Lóf and Míl exchanged glances before getting food for themselves.

“I don’t think your friends like me yet,” Thorin said. Bilbo glanced at them talking to Frodo and smiled.

“Perhaps not, but we’ll be heading out soon enough.” He turned back to Thorin. “And that is as far as I’ll think about what awaits us. Right now, I want to be with you and celebrate our wedding.”

Thorin grinned. “I can do that if you can.”

“I can,” Bilbo promised, kissing the tip of Thorin’s nose. “For the next couple days, I want to simply be with you, here and now.”

“I think we can find a way to do that,” Thorin agreed.

“After dinner.”

“I know. I am not fool enough to come between a Hobbit and his meal.”

“A wise decision, if I do say so myself.” Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin’s waist, not quite locking him in, but a fine attempt at it. He laid his head against Thorin’s chest and listened to his heartbeat. It beat fast, a drumbeat against his ear, and he felt the steady rise and fall of Thorin’s chest.

“I love you,” Thorin whispered. “I still fear that this will be a dream and I’ll wake up only to find we had not yet crossed paths again.”

Bilbo blinked and kissed him. “I promise it’s not a dream. I’ll be with you in the morning, my dearest husband,” he stroked the marriage braid he put in Thorin’s hair and grinned. “You may as well get used to waking up with me by your side. It is no dream, I promise you.” Thorin pressed his forehead to Bilbo’s, sighing. “Do you not believe me?”

“I believe you.”

“Good because I really look forward to tonight,” Bilbo said, grinning. Thorin arched a brow and Bilbo squeezed his hand. “Do you not?”

“I do. More than you know,” Thorin said. “But what if you get pregnant again?”

“Unlikely,” Bilbo said. “I’m older than I look, Thorin. I wasn’t exactly expecting to be able to give birth at fifty let alone would I be able to now.”

“I could happen.”

“It could, but even so, it’s rare that it’d be on the first try. We weren’t exactly planning on having a child when I got pregnant with Frodo, did we? And even then, I was surprised I got pregnant at all. Not that I’d take it back,” he said, looking at Frodo, who was avoiding dancing with anyone. He looked rather uncomfortable. Bilbo guessed he missed Mac and wanted to remain faithful to his beloved back home.

“No. I wouldn’t take a thing back at all,” he said. Thorin’s smile dimmed, so Bilbo pinched his arm. “Stop that. We both have plenty of regrets. I don’t want to think on them today. And you shouldn’t either. Now, how about instead we bid the others goodnight and finish this conversation privately?”

He didn’t give Thorin a chance to answer, pulling him down the hallway and to their bedroom. Once inside, Bilbo pushed Thorin onto the bed and climbed into his lap. “Tell me you want me.”

Thorin licked his lips. “You know I do.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want…I…” Bilbo ran his fingers through Thorin’s short beard and hair, massaging his scalp.

“Yes?”

“I want you to…” Bilbo kissed his jaw moving downward. “Ride me,” Thorin said. “I want you on top tonight, bouncing on my cock.” Bilbo hummed and climbed off.

“No foreplay? That’s no fun.”

Thorin snorted. “Would you like me to strip bare for you then?” He asked, turning on his side and smirking at Bilbo. “Lay myself bare for you?” Bilbo hummed again, eyes roaming Thorin’s body.

“You know, I think I would. And what do you say I only wear the Mithril shirt tonight?” Thorin arched a brow as Bilbo stood. “Or would you rather I undress you?”

“Just the Mithril shirt?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think you’d still have it.”

“Of course I still have it,” Bilbo said. He removed his coat and the top shirt to reveal it. Thorin moved his hand over the shirt, eyes glistening and awestruck. “So am I going to get that striptease I’d been promised or—”

Bilbo squeaked when Thorin pulled him into his lap, unlacing Bilbo’s trousers and rolling them over to take them off before pulling his own clothes off. He kissed Bilbo, cutting off the retort that that wasn’t much of a striptease, and slid a hand under the shirt and cupped his breast, rubbing his thumb against a nipple. Bilbo kissed him back, hands locking around Thorin’s neck.

He relaxed as Thorin nudged his knees apart, trading teasing, light kisses with Bilbo as his hands roamed over Bilbo’s body, mumbling in Khuzdul between them. Bilbo canted his hips against Thorin’s, rubbing their cocks together and pulling a deep throated moan from Thorin’s throat.

He pushed Thorin onto his back and slid down between his legs, gripping his cock at the base and kissed the tip. Thorin sat up, holding himself up by his hands pressed into the mattress as Bilbo kissed, licked, and teased his cock to hardness before letting off, ignoring Thorin’s groan and slid down on him, birth canal slick and wet.

Thorin gripped Bilbo’s hips and arched his back, a choked moan escaping his lips as Bilbo began to move. Bilbo bit his lip as he watched Thorin’s pleasure unfold beneath him. “Open your eyes, love,” Bilbo said, leaning down to pet his beard.

Thorin obeyed, opening his eyes and watching Bilbo raptly as he rocked on Thorin’s cock. Thorin licked his lips and curled his hand around Bilbo’s erection, stoking the flames within. Bilbo moaned and rocked faster. Thorin’s hips canted and Bilbo shouted.

They rolled over and Thorin pushed his legs back to his shoulders. “Okay?”

“Yes,” Bilbo assured him, “Go on. Please.”

Thorin chuckled, rolling his hips. “You’re so polite.”

Bilbo kissed him, nipping his lips and squeezed around his cock. Thorin groaned and his hips canted violently. Bilbo’s eyes rolled back into his head and begged Thorin to do it again. Thorin obeyed and Bilbo’s back arched, muscles tensing, as he felt his climax approach. When he slipped over the edge, he brought Thorin with him, squeezing around his cock and pulling him into a kiss by his hair, fingers tangled in the locks.

After a moment of deep breaths mingling together, Thorin rolled off, huffing. Bilbo turned onto his side to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be right back,” he said, getting up and pulling the mithril shirt off him as he went to get a linen cloth and some water. When he returned, Thorin was waiting for him with heavy lidded eyes.

“There are no words to express how deeply I love you,” he whispered. Bilbo hummed, wiping him down. Thorin took his wrist. “I mean it, Bilbo.”

“I know you do,” Bilbo said. “And I love you, too.” He tossed the cloth aside and buried under the covers. “So get your sappy butt over here and let’s go to sleep. If we’re lucky, we might be able to fit in another round before breakfast.”

Thorin chuckled as he settled in next to Bilbo, wrapping his arms around him, and drifted off to sleep.


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter with gross fucking with book time line...

“Are we ready to go?” Lobelia asked. Bilbo nodded, tightening his belt around his waist. He placed his hand on Sting and glanced at the group. Thorin tucked the Ring under his tunic and nodded.

“We are ready.”

With that, he led the group to the East gate. Elrond met them there with Frodo.

“Say your goodbyes and may your journey be protected by the Valar,” he said. Frodo bit his lip and approached the group.

“It’s not too late to change your mind, Dad.”

Bilbo tucked a stray curl behind Frodo’s ear. “Not on your life, my lad.” Frodo’s lower lip quivered and he embraced Bilbo tightly. Bilbo rubbed his back.

“Be careful, Dad.”

“I will,” he said. “We all will.” He stepped back, wiping Frodo’s tears. “And one day we’ll be together again, Frodo. I promise.” He kissed Frodo’s forehead and hugged him again. “I love you, my boy.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

He let go and Frodo found himself being embraced and bidding goodbye the others. Thorin pressed their foreheads together. “You have family in Erebor if you ever find yourself in need of them.” Frodo nodded. “Your aunt will take care of you in our stead if anything happens. But I tell you true, you are a son of Durin even if you are still reluctant to say so and I couldn’t be prouder to call you my son.”

Frodo swallowed. “I know, Adad.” Thorin sighed and smiled before letting go.

Elrond blessed them once more and they set out. Frodo ran to the wall and watched till he couldn’t see them anymore.

~Thirty-Four Years Later~

~Halimath 22nd, F.A. 29~

_There and Back Again_

_A Hobbit’s Tale_

_By Bilbo Baggins_

Bilbo put the quill back in the inkwell and leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he thought where to begin. He smirked and turned the page, picking up the quill again.

_Concerning Hobbits_

The door opened and he glanced up briefly to see Thorin stride inside, muttering darkly in Khuzdul. Someone knocked on it and Bilbo arched a brow.

“No,” Thorin said. “Leave it shut. Leave it before I bolt us inside.”

“Really now, Thorin. It can’t be that bad.”

“You wouldn’t know.” He stomped toward the bath room and Bilbo got back to writing. Another knock. He sighed.

“Frodo, will you get that?” No response. Bilbo got back to writing. The knocking continued. “Frodo, the door!” Still nothing and the blasted knocking. Bilbo set the quill down and stood, groaning. He grabbed his cane and went to the door to admit the person outside.

A Dwarrowdam smirked at him. “Good morning, Bilbo,” she said. Bilbo stepped aside to let her in and closed the door as Dis hung up her cloak.

“Dis, it is so good to see you. Are the lads with you?”

“They ran into Frodo at the Party Tree.” So _that’s where Frodo is_ , Bilbo thought. “I myself made my way here. Now where’s my brother, if I may ask.”

“Hiding from you is my guess. He didn’t want me to get the door.”

“Ah. That does sound like Thorin,” Dis said, smirking.

“Indeed,” Bilbo said, snorting. “Would you like some tea?”

“I would love some,” she said. He led her to the kitchen offering some other foods as well to go with the tea. She declined and Bilbo put the kettle on.

“So I hope the journey wasn’t too treacherous.”

Dis laughed. “After that quest of yours? No. Nothing we couldn’t handle,” she said. “It is good to see Fili and Kili grow into their own and Frodo too. He hasn’t changed much. An adult in all ways now, it looks. He really grew into his own. Quite a tall one among Hobbits.”

Bilbo nodded. After his thirty-third birthday, Frodo’s physical aging slowed. He looked no older than forty now despite being nearly sixty years old. Bilbo hummed into his cup. “He is tall. Gets that from Thorin on top of his looks. At least the rest of him is Hobbit.”

“What about me?” Thorin asked, entering the room. Dis smiled at him and Thorin turned to Bilbo. “You let her in?”

“She’s your sister. Be nice.”

Thorin rolled his eyes and sat down. “I’m still surprised you’re alive, Dis.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around, brother dear?”

Bilbo shook his head. He was never going to understand their need to insult each other at every turn. Dis and Thorin were close, but clearly, close for the two of them meant catty insults and petty arguments. Indeed, this would be an interesting birthday if nothing else.

“Anyway, is everything in order?”

“It is,” Dis said. “We’re ready to leave when you two are.”

“Excellent!” Bilbo said, clapping his hands. “Oh! Tea.” He winced, getting up. His leg was never going to stop bothering him, he supposed.

“Does Frodo know?”

“Of course he knows,” Thorin said. “He’s sharp. Besides, I think he’s eager to have the place to himself…”

Bilbo snorted. It was somewhat true. Frodo was eager for them to get a move on and let him be with his Ones. Sam and Rose had come of age at last the previous year. It had been a sad day when they came home to find that Mac had fallen in love with someone else. Frodo had blamed them at first, but then his Longing kicked in.

First, it had been Samwise Gamgee, followed a little while later by Rosie Cotton. Frodo had been patient waiting for them to come of age so he could court them. Most of the Shire had been scandalized by the idea at first, but Bilbo couldn’t have been prouder of his lad.

And Thorin had said that while rare it does happen that sometimes a Dwarf will have more than one Sanzeuh.

“Indeed eager,” Thorin said.

“Hush,” Bilbo snapped, slapping his arm. “I think we both would like to remain a little oblivious to what goes on behind Frodo’s door.”

“Fair enough,” Thorin sighed. “Still, I don’t know about you, but I look forward to seeing Erebor again.”

“Oh, I look forward to it. I don’t look forward to the journey. Not with this dratted leg of mine.” He patted his knee. Thorin took his hand and kissed it. Dis grinned.

“The two of you got sappier with age.”

“When you’re husband is emotionally constipated for most of his life, I think I deserve to have a sappy love life,” Bilbo said, smiling at Thorin.

“I was not emotionally constipated.”

Bilbo arched a brow at him while Dis threw her head back and laughed. “Yelling at me on top of the Carrock is _not_ how you apologize for being a git, Thorin.”

“Neither is nearly shoving someone off a cliff, but I think we’ve already agreed to call it even.”

“The level of dysfunction in this household amazes me,” Dis muttered. “Still,” she stood. “I imagine tonight will be a night to remember. Now I’m going to see how the lads are doing. A king Fili may be, but sometimes I worry about him and Kili, given their penchant for mischief.”

“Dear God, don’t tell me…”

“Just be ready for the council to be running to you begging you to take back the throne.”

“Not happening.”

“I know.”

“You’re the one who decided it was a good time to step down.”

“I know.”

“Dis…what state will Erebor be in when we get there.”

“If all is well, it should be fine.”

“Maybe you should become King again, if only to stop the idiocy I’m starting to fear there.”

“I’m considering it,” Thorin said. Another knock echoed through the house. Thorin groaned and Bilbo stood.

“No thank you!” he shouted. “We don’t want any more well-wishers well within distant relations!”

“And what about very old friends?” A deep voice called from outside. Bilbo’s eyes lit up and he grabbed his cane, hobbling over to the door to admit Gandalf.

Dis smiled at her brother, who stood. “Well, you’re not wrong,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “It will certainly be a night to remember. Thank you for coming all this way to help us move back to the Mountain.”

“Of course. Erebor is your home.”

“No. My home is with Bilbo and the last few years have been the nicest I ever could have hoped for.”

“That’s sweet, dear. Shall we greet the wizard while he’s here?”

Thorin nodded and they went to the parlor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading this story. I loved writing it and reading you're comments.


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